Of Prudence and Pragmatism
by RestInChaos
Summary: Thinking back on it, Charlie realized that jumping on Captain America was probably a bad idea. But Charlie had a job to do, and she was bound and determined to make sure Steve Rogers didn't get killed in the modern world. She would just have to handle Stark's teasing later. SteveOC. Begins pre-Avengers.
1. One

Story Warning: This story is in its _Beta stages_. Certain details do not align with the films and certainly not the comics.

* * *

_Prologue_

If there was one thing Charlie hated more than being late, it was being late in a snow storm. And as the white flakes and the tiny balls of ice whirled past her, impeding her vision, she was pretty sure she was late.

The ground at her feet was not visible underneath the several inches of snow. She wondered if she was even standing on the ground at all, not oblivious to the fact she would begin to sink lower the longer she stood in one spot. The bottoms of her pants were soaked in melted snow and clung to the tight leather that wrapped around her skin underneath the thick protective clothing. She wore a shirt over the leather top, as well as a hooded sweater and an even thicker jacket. It did little to keep the weather from effecting her body, which shivered and tingled at every movement. She was interested to see how much longer it would take to become entirely numb, as her feet and nose had already reached that stage. "I hate the cold," She stated aloud, her lips sending her a funny feeling as they moved.

With a long sigh aimed into the cup of her hands, she rubbed her gloves together near her mouth, blocking the wind from nearing her face. The footsteps of another reached her, but she did not look back as she heard him struggling to gain his footing behind her. Her eyes were focused in on something much more interesting. She could feel the scowl he was sending her through the storm as he replied, "You hate weather."

She turned to look back at Clark finally, and spotted him kneeling over to pick up his hat before it froze to the floor of snow. "It never makes up its mind," She mused, watching as he let out a yelp when he placed the hat back onto his head.

He rubbed the sides of his temples, grimacing at the cold shock he'd received, as he walked toward her. Neither of them enjoyed being sent out into the middle of a snow storm on the hearsay of a scientist, but it was an order they could not refuse. He sighed, panting a little as he looked at his and his partner's surroundings. Everything was covered in snow. He couldn't even make out the mountains in the distance, let alone his own extremities. He wished he brought goggles with him. "I think it's pretty set-in-stone about this place."

"Unfortunately." Charlie continued to keep her hands by her mouth as she eyed the wreckage in front of them. The gasp that left Clark's lips told her that his eyes were adjusting, and making out the scene. Two large wings of a plane protruded from the ground, ice forming a tight layer of skin around the metal. The body of the plane was half emerged in snow, the other half open to the weather. There was an entrance to the plane, cleared by modern tools and technology. They could see the scientists scrambling from one end of the wreckage to the other, excitement and adrenaline working them to the bone.

Knowing that her partner was still trying to believe the sight in front of him, Charlie turned her torso and searched through the whirling snow. There were a number of jeeps there, most of them not theirs. Finding the large van they came in, Charlie waved her arm high into the air, signaling to the man behind the wheel. She thought she heard a honk in response, but she was unable to make it out amongst the sound of nature.

Turning back, she shared a glance with Clark. A look of excitement flickered in his brown eyes and, for a moment, Charlie wanted to warn him not to get his hopes up. She wanted to warn him they were there on hearsay and nothing more. She wanted to warn him that, even if it was more than hearsay, it would likely not be the results he was wanting. But at the twitch at his lips trying to curl into a smirk, she decided to let him have his moment of hope.

They nodded to one another and set off down the hill they stood on. It took longer than Charlie would have liked, but not as long as she'd expected, to reach the site. Clark had scrambled across the snow most of the way, to which Charlie had to pull him out of certain areas, but they had made it nonetheless. Arriving at the entrance of the plane, Charlie lifted her foot, stepping up onto the platform as Clark stumbled onto it. She looked over her shoulder at him, but turned back upon hearing the low rumble of a man chuckling.

The man wore clothes thicker than her own, and what puffs of brown hair that stuck out from underneath his cap showed graying. His eyes were intelligent, but warm. His gloved hands were clasped in front of him as he smiled at Charlie, nodding to the man behind her. "Not used to a little snow, agents?" He asked as he began walking toward them, his heavy boots clunking against the metal under them.

Charlie did not need to turn to see Clark gripping at his beanie as he held out his other arm to balance himself on the platform to not slip off. There was also no need to turn to see him shoot the man an incredulous look. "A _little_ snow?" He rasped out, his voice strained as he tried to inch forward across the slippery platform to be at Charlie's side.

Giving a small shrug of his shoulders, the man looked out at the white plains with a mixed expression of respect and experience. "Nathan Briggs. I just finished working out of Antarctica, agent. This is a nice change of pace," He commented as he moved his gaze back to them.

"I think you need to get out more, Nathan," Charlie commented with a calm voice, ignoring Clark's mutters about insanity.

Nathan gave a full laugh at her words, stepping to the side as he raised a hand to motion them inside. He was amused and lighthearted as he replied, "So does my wife." Charlie returned his smile with her own, nodding to him as she climbed up the platform. Clark was not far behind, shaking his head to free his hair of the flakes of snow that managed to attach themselves to him. Nathan walked in after them, though he was still in the lead. "I didn't catch your names, agents."

"Charlie Strauss, sir. This is my partner, Walter Clark. Forgive us for being late, we were flown in from Marrakesh," Charlie introduced herself and her partner, nodding to Nathan in greeting, who smiled in response.

He squeezed past them, guiding them down the hall as he said, "Ah, no wonder Agent Clark is having trouble adjusting." Charlie could hear Clark mumbling under his breath at the teasing, and she chuckled as Nathan shot him a mischievous grin. "I can imagine you had some trouble there. It's a busy atmosphere."

Charlie replied with a quick tone, "The busier, the better to blend, Mister Briggs."

Nathan glanced back them, a look of understanding flashing in his eyes. "Then I shudder to think of what you've been doing," He muttered as he stopped by a doorway. From the sight of it, the two agents assumed the door was removed by the scientists there at the site. "I do appreciate you coming, though. For a while there, I thought our discovery was going to go ignored."

"SHIELD was… Hesitant enough, sending Agent Clark and I out on hearsay. They wanted to make sure their resources were distributed to the right places," Charlie explained in a neutral tone.

From beside the two, Clark snorted and said, "Layman's terms, the Council thought you were all insane and decided to drop us here after the twentieth phone call."

Charlie glared at him, but Nathan only laughed, to her relief. "I can understand that. It was hard for me to believe, and I was one of the ones that found it," He explained as the excitement Charlie had spotted in Clark, rose in Nathan's own eyes.

"What exactly is _it_, Mister Briggs? His shield?" Charlie questioned.

Nathan's smile widened as his eyes lit up. He rose his hand, beckoning them into the room. Charlie and Clark stepped inside and once more, Nathan squeezed past them to lead them across the large room. The agents looked around, taking note of the high metal ceiling and walls. "At first we thought it was. We assumed it was just the…," He trailed off as he gripped his hands together, rubbing his palms against one another. Looking back to them with the same excited smile, he stepped to the side, "Look for yourselves, agents." Charlie looked away from Nathan and toward the sight he'd pointed their gazes to.

At the front of the section of the plane they were inside, was a group of scientists. They moved quickly, their rushed yells in each other's directions making sense to no one but themselves. Charlie did not know what they were doing at first, but she soon realized what their goal was when she looked to what they were focusing on.

The scientists were hard at work trying to thaw out a man.

At the sight of the circular shield resting in the corner of the room, starred and red, white, and blue, Charlie's eyes widened as she stepped toward the man. She could feel her breath holding in her throat as her excitement rose. The man in the ice matched the shield, his uniform a bright red, white, and blue, even after all this time. It was just as the report said.

Charlie rose a shaky hand in Clark's direction, breathlessly wording out, "Get Becker to bring the van closer, we're going to need some supplies."

She could hear a snort come from Clark. "We're going to need _a lot_ of supplies," he said before turning and running out of the room. Charlie could not tear her eyes away from the sight as she slipped her slim phone from out of the pocket of her jacket. Her fingers pressed the buttons and she dialed the number with ease, before placing the phone by her ear. The ringing echoed in her head before she realized how stunned she was.

"_You better have something, Agent Strauss._"

She would have laughed if she had any breath left inside her. It proved impossible however as she struggled for her next words. "I do," She said as she gasped for a sudden rush of air to fill her lungs, "And it's unbelievable."

"_It's his shield, then?_"

"…It's _him_, Sir."


	2. Two

I want to say a quick but entirely sincere 'thank you' to _Amber-Jade James_ for reviewing, and to those who added this to their alerts and favorites! I got more feedback than I ever expected to get and I appreciate that so much.

* * *

_Above the Pay Grade_

"Everyone, move aside!"

"I can't believe it," Clark whispered to himself, watching as two medics pushed out the frozen remnants of Captain America on a stretcher. They moved at high pace, exiting out of the plane as quickly as they had arrived. Agents moved even quicker, transporting the shield for confiscation. Charlie was still in shock. Up until she'd seen it for herself, she thought it was nonsense. She had assumed the scientists just found propaganda that managed to survive a crash. In no way did she expect to see the shield – the _real_ shield of Captain America.

So, upon laying eyes on the frozen, but very much alive, form of Captain America himself, Charlie was in shock.

As she shook her head, she looked up to the grinning form of Nathan. "I… Thank you for calling this in, Mister Briggs," She told him, ignoring Clark as he nodded behind her with grateful enthusiasm.

Nathan nodded as well, looking down at the woman. He offered her his hand, saying, "My pleasure, Miss Strauss. Hopefully… Hopefully the medics can do more than we could." Charlie took his hand to shake it, and furrowed her brows as she felt an object being transferred from his hand to her own. She said nothing as the scientist shook Clark's hand, Charlie slipping the object into her jacket to look at later as they set off outside the wreckage of the plane.

The van the agents arrived in was parked just outside the entrance platform, the back doors sitting wide open as Charlie's medics and scientists were placing together a medical tent. A medic pushed apart the flaps of the entrance, holding them back as Captain America was pushed into the tent. He kept it open until Charlie and Clark passed through, before walking in and buttoning the flaps together.

Inside the tent, Charlie felt an immediate warmth wash over her. It was still cold, but at much a warmer level. She pulled her gloves off as she looked around the tent – medical equipment took half of the space, all focused on thawing and rewarming the man on the stretcher. The medics looked as shocked as Charlie had, though she had a feeling it was because someone was still alive, and not because of _who_ was still alive. They were mumbling amongst one another about his condition, ignoring the rest of their surroundings.

"Care to share that with the rest of the class, Louise?" Clark asked by the entrance of the tent, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his pants.

One of the medics looked up at the two agents, a flash of irritation crossing her features, most of which were hidden by her mask and high collared jacket. "Of course, _Agent Clark_. At what level of intelligence shall I explain this to you?"

Charlie's brows rose as she glanced back to her partner, who looked stiff and uncomfortable at her response. "I… Well… You don't have to be so…"

As Clark trailed off, Louise narrowed her eyes at him before giving a dramatic nod. "As if you were a kindergartener, then," She said as she looked toward Charlie, "He's _alive_, that's a shock in its own reward. But he's also thawing quicker than we would have expected. If I didn't know any better, I would think he'd survive even without our equipment."

"It's amazing," Another medic mumbled under his breath, not looking away from his work.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Charlie stepped closer to the entrance, shooting a look Clark's way. "Louise?"

He shifted, glancing away from her as he rubbed the back of his neck. "It, uh… We had a minor falling out-"

"He didn't call after we spent the night together," Louise snapped as she looked back to Captain America's frozen form. "You truly are the only woman he talks to more than once, Agent Strauss."

Smirks pulled at Charlie's and Louise's lips as Clark groaned from how uncomfortable he began to feel. "I'm, uh, going to go… Wait outside. In the cold," He muttered, spinning on his heel. Louise chuckled as he struggled to unbutton the snaps before rushing out of the tent.

Charlie turned, buttoning and wrapping the flaps back to a close, when she heard one of the medics let out a small noise of surprise. "L-Louise, I think he's waking," He whispered out. Charlie spun around, quicker than she probably should have, to see the medic leaning over Captain America, trying to notice any movement.

Louise shook her head, glaring at the man slightly. "That's impossible, Ryan."

The third medic, standing at the end of the stretcher, gave a snort that sounded much like Clark. "So is him being alive, but what are we here for?" He remarked to Louise, who still shook her head in disbelief.

She placed down a light, moving down the stretcher to check his pulse. "If he wakes now, he may go into shock," She stated.

"He's Captain America, Louise, if anyone could handle this, it would be him," Ryan replied with a small expression of admiration.

Just as he finished in his response, the man on the stretcher grimaced. Louise gasped, grabbing at her light to continue her work. "You've got to be kidding me," She muttered before looking to Charlie. She nodded to the head of Captain America, saying, "Agent Strauss, take care of that end for us, will you?"

Charlie suddenly wished she had left the tent with Clark. She wanted to say no. What did one say to someone when they were in the middle of being revived and _thawed out_? She snorted at her thoughts – she had been trained by some of the best men in the business, she could handle the stress and the pressure of being in any situation, but _this_ situation seemed just a tad above her level. _Screw my level, this is above my pay grade_, she scoffed to herself before stepping closer to the stretcher.

Upon seeing the face of the frozen man, his pale skin and light blond hair, Charlie suddenly realized this was closer than she ever wanted to be to Captain America. Physically speaking, anyway. Well, probably emotionally too, she didn't really need to get to know him-

"He's waking!"

Charlie jumped with a start at the voice of one of the medics. Who it was, she didn't notice, nor care. All she did notice was Captain America shifting his head, before entirely too noticeable blue eyes blinked open. Any confidence she had been trying to gather died when she saw him focusing his eye sight, and she once and for all noticed just what he looked like. He had round, deep-set eyes placed just over a broad nose with a bridge bearing a slight wave, and bottom-heavy, down turned lips shadowing his small, but prominent chin. His hair, blonde when dry, was a shade darker than usual due to the melting ice. _For Christ's sakes, Charlie, he's frozen right now. Focus._

He looked up at the woman hovering over him, and could make out nothing but key features – the golden colored hair waving over her shoulders, the peach colored skin with a cold flush of red and white nipping at her cheeks, and deep green eyes peering down at him. "Where…"

She didn't let him continue, though he wasn't so sure he would have been able to regardless. "You're in the Arctic," She responded, keeping her voice low and soothing. It calmed him more than she realized it did. "Do you remember who you are?"

He tried to nod, but the movement seemed to kill the numbness he was feeling. Pain shot through every inch of his body, and he felt himself beginning to shiver and tremble. Brows furrowing, he hissed and tried to look down at his body, which felt compressed and held down. Before he could look, he felt her hands on his cheeks, pushing his head back down with gentle force. She looked at him with an expectancy for answers, and he mumbled, "Steve Rogers…"

"Keep his neck warm," Louise warned as she and the other medics sped up in their process.

Charlie looked over to the woman before turning back to Steve's dazed expression. Slipping out the gloves she'd put in her pockets, she rubbed them together, and placed them at either side of his neck. She pressed them against his skin, maintaining eye contact. "You'll be alright, Steve. Trust me."

"Bring it over, now."

Glancing back once more, Charlie noticed the bag of fluids a medic was carrying to the stretcher. "Wait," She said, holding out a hand to stop them.

Louise looked up at her with a scowl. "He needs internal rewarming, Agent Strauss," She argued, taking the bag from her fellow medic.

Charlie shook her head, her eyes firm. "You said he was warming himself at a faster rate than normal," Charlie began, before waving her hand at the bag, "We have to assume this is because of the serum, and we don't know how his body will react to other fluids."

The medic in front of Charlie glared. "He has been frozen, Agent Strauss. I doubt something like _this_ will kill him," She stated through pursed lips.

"Regardless, Doctor," Charlie growled out, "Unless you have worked with this serum before, I am ordering you not to risk it. You will put that bag down or I will have Agent Clark place you on the first plane back to the States." There were a few moments of tense silence, before Louise frowned and handed the bag to Ryan. The medic, nervous enough from the two headstrong women in the room, put it away. Charlie hid the sigh of relief that pulled from her throat, and she turned back to the man on the stretcher.

He was still looking up at her with a dazed expression. Charlie placed a hand on his cheek and could still feel the freezing sensation of his skin. "I'll make sure you get out of this safe, alright, Steve?"

Shocking her, the medics, and even Steve, the man lifted a hand out of the ice Louise had melted just enough for him to break, and he grabbed a hold of her arm. Charlie looked to his hold on her with widened eyes – even only half alive, he was stronger than most men. Looking back toward his face, she watched as he struggled to maintain consciousness. "Peggy… Need Peggy."

Charlie's eyes went even wider. He was frozen in a block of ice and he was thinking of a woman. _Good to know where his priorities lie_, she thought, her own inner voice dripping with mental sarcasm. But she kept it in, instead flashing him a sympathetic smile. "I'll find Peggy for you, okay?" He tried to nod and even though he winced at the movement, it was clear he was happy with her response. She realized his motions and smiled down at him. "Just hang on…"

Steve's head fell back, pressing onto the stretcher as his eyelids became heavier, and his arm fell to his side. Charlie watched as he passed out, able to do nothing else. She looked up to the medics, who were watching him with silent awe. "Someone get some blankets," She told them as she stepped away from the stretcher.

Turning around to see Clark standing at the entrance, Charlie nodded to him and followed him outside the tent. The two were welcomed with the sight of a jeep, waiting to drive them out of the storm. "A heli's on its way out here to pick up the Star Spangled Man back there. We're supposed to get back first so you can report to Fury," Clark remarked as he and his partner made their way to the vehicle, "Not so sure the Council's gonna believe this."

Charlie gave a small scoff. She looked back to the medical tent as she climbed into the jeep, holding onto the edge of the vehicle. With a nod to the driver, Charlie muttered, "_I_ don't even believe this one."


	3. Three

I'm really glad this story's going well so far. Thank you for the reviews!

* * *

_Bigfoot_

"I don't care what any of you say, _I_ saw _Captain America_. _The_ Captain America!"

Charlie entangled her fingers together in a loose grip at her lap, ignoring her partner's exclamations with ease. Second to Fury, she was the one other person at SHIELD who could effectively block out Walter Clark's voice. And as he glared across the room at the female agent who stared at him with nothing but skepticism, Charlie was thankful to have such a talent.

The room they were in was small and bore little decorations. There were doors at both far walls, a desk in one of the corners, and simple chairs seated at either side of the desk. Charlie and Clark sat in front of the desk, while the indifferent female agent was placed behind it, with her fingers tapping at the slim keyboard of her computer. She paused from her work, raising a delicate black brow aimed at the childish Clark. "You also claimed to see Bigfoot six months ago," She retorted through pursed, thin lips.

Clark eyed her with monotony. "That was a minor theory based off concrete evidence. And, might I add, no one has yet to prove me wrong." Nudging a hand into Charlie's shoulders, he looked between the two women and gained a determined posture. "Charlie saw him."

The woman glanced toward said agent, whose eyes remained on the door in front of her with a tight grip of her hands and a hard expression on her face. "Charlie saw Bigfoot?"

Sighing, Clark gave a dramatic shook of his head. "Captain America. She saw Captain America. She _spoke_ to Captain America, I saw it," He stated with a growing smile on his face. He pointed to his chest with pride, as though it was he himself who spoke to the now-living legend instead of his partner. At the sight of the woman's growing skepticism, he sighed and waved a hand toward Charlie. "She doesn't believe me, Charlie. Make her believe me."

"Where's Fury?"

Clark looked to Charlie with a small frown. "I fail to see how that's going to make her believe we saw Captain America," He murmured.

She shot him a sharp gaze before turning back to the other woman in the room. She waited for an answer as the woman sighed, nodding her head to the door behind her, and in front of Charlie. "He's in a meeting. He'll let us know when he's ready for you-"

"Which is now, Agent Strauss."

The three agents looked up toward the door, where they spotted Fury. Charlie was the first to her feet, springing out of her chair with speed. Her partner moved at a much slower pace, standing as he straightened his suit. "Director," Charlie nodded to him in greeting as she walked around the desk. Clark followed her into the room, but not before sending a smug smirk in the direction of the agent at the desk. She rolled her brown eyes at him, turning back to her computer.

Nick Fury was a tall man, dark skinned and straight-laced. He wanted results, and he wanted them quickly. His muscular build, with a matching glowering demeanor and scars peaking out of an eye patch over his left eye, intimidated most people. He took long strides across the room, before turning on his heels to stare down the two agents now in front of him. Clark stood straight, his posture more at attention than normal, his hands still at his sides instead of fiddling with his suit or his hair. Charlie maintained a serious attitude, waiting for orders.

Fury rose a brow, motioning to the two of them with little patience. "Speak up anytime." Clark cleared his throat, pulling at his tie as he stepped forward from Charlie's side. "Not you," He interrupted the agent, narrowing his gaze in on the man.

There was a small huff from Clark as he turned sideways and looked to Charlie, who glanced to him before moving her eyes back to her director. "It was as the scientists claimed, Director. We were escorted into the plane by Nathan Briggs, who showed us the shield, as well as-"

"I've read the report, Strauss. I want to know what didn't go into it," Fury interrupted once more, his tone firm. It was clear whatever meeting he'd just had didn't go well. Charlie wanted to make this quick, but she was lost for a moment at the interruption. Taking note of this, Fury's shoulders gave a slight drop as he hardened his stare. "I heard you spoke to him, Agent Strauss. Clark certainly isn't keeping it a secret."

The look Charlie shot him stung Clark. _If looks could kill_, he'd mused to himself. He rubbed his stomach as though lasers flashed from her eyes and burned a hole through his body. He looked away and feigned the most sincere, bashful expression he could muster. "Sir, he woke momentarily. I told him where he was and that we were taking care of him," Charlie explained, looking downward with a little embarrassment.

"That's all?" Fury pushed, his eye narrowing just enough to cause her to stiffen. Nonetheless, she nodded, gaining back her confidence in the process. "Then why didn't you put in the report?" He questioned her, crossing his coat clad arms over his chest with skepticism.

Charlie resisted a sigh as she straightened her back even further. "I assumed you would try to wake and interrogate him before he fully healed if you knew. I apologize, Director," She explained, gripping her hands together behind her back for the added push she needed, "It won't happen again."

A few seconds of silence passed through the room as Fury watched her. She kept her face impassive, both eyes zoned in on his one. Finally, Fury nodded. He walked to his temporary desk, picking up a particular folder. "It'd better not. Rogers is being put in your charge," He commented, opening the folder to look at its contents as he spoke.

He ignored it as the two agents looked to him in shock. "Director?" Charlie mumbled, not masking her surprise in the least.

Fury turned his head back toward her. She almost winced at the sarcasm lacing his words as he spoke next. "You care so much for his well-being, you can watch over him till he wakes. I want you checking on his status every day and guarding his room."

Trying to regain a neutral attitude, Charlie repositioned the grip she had on her hands. "Anything in particular I should be on the look out for, Director?"

He shot her a sarcastically incredulous look, to which she did wince at. "Yeah, anything that tries to hurt him," He told her with a blank voice. Noticing her hesitation, he rose a challenging brow. "That going to be a problem, Agent Strauss?"

Charlie thought she'd had her confidence back, but they all knew that was not the case when her eyes were cast downward once more. "I… No, Sir," She replied, shaking her head.

He nodded at this. "Good." Snapping the folder closed, he held it out to her. Upon her taking it, he turned and made his way back to his desk. "You have work to do, Strauss. Clark, I want you back on Selvig tomorrow. You'll be working with Barton." Clark took in this information, giving Fury a quick nod as he turned to the door. He looked toward Charlie, who was trying her best not to openly scowl down at the folder in her hands, or at Fury. He placed a hand on her arm, encouraging her to spin around and leave the room with him.

The two agents walked through the second room in silence, Clark shaking his head and dismissing it when the woman at the desk shot them questioning gazes. When Charlie Strauss was mad, everyone know Charlie Strauss was mad. This was no exception. Reaching the elevator, Clark slammed his palm onto the button, praying it came quicker than normal. Fates were on his side that day, as the doors slid open almost immediately.

Clark rushed into the elevator, pressing the appropriate floor's button as Charlie stormed inside next to him. They both turned their backs to the back wall of the elevator, facing the doors. Grasping his hands together in front of him, Clark slid glances Charlie's way as he thought of what to say to her. He needed to calm her down _before_ the elevator stopped again, if it were even possible. Charlie Strauss could hold grudges more than she could hold her liquor.

"That wasn't… So bad."

Even Clark wanted to grimace at how pathetic he'd sounded. Charlie crossed her arms over her dress-suit, something she had always hated wearing. She much preferred the flexible, breathable SHIELD uniforms she wore during jobs, regardless of what most women thought about the uniforms. "He gave me grunt work," She stated, more so to herself than to him. As if she were still in the process of believing what happened.

Forcing a smile, the male agent turned to look up at her, standing just a few inches shorter. "Look on the bright side, you're watching over _Captain America_-"

Charlie turned her neck at a slow speed, but that did little to decrease the glare on her face. Clark shrunk back on instinct, wondering if it was such a good idea to share an elevator with her at the time. "I don't care if it was Jesus Christ we found in the ice, I'm doing grunt work," She snapped, holding up the yellow folder, with the name _Captain America_ on the front, for emphasis. She was beginning to hate that name.

"Think of it as a vacation!" Clark exclaimed before really thinking of the words that came to his mind and slipped from his lips.

With a deep sigh, Charlie leaned against the wall of the elevator. She shoved the folder into her friend's – and she was using that term loosely – arms before reaching up to yank the blazer of her suit off. It was suffocating, office apparel. How Coulson or Sitwell managed, she had no clue. "You just couldn't keep quiet, could you?" Charlie grumbled.

Clark seemed offended by the comment as he spun to look up at her in shock. Surely she realized how amazing the discovery had been. SHIELD had been searching for the legend for years, Howard Stark even longer. Not to mention, he was a hero for the entire country, Walter Clark included. "It was _Captain_-"

Once more, he found himself interrupted by Charlie, who did her best to tower over him (and looking up at her lean frame, Clark concluded she was successful. _Very_ successful.) "Stop. Stop gushing out his name and stop acting star-struck. You work with super humans on a daily basis," She growled out, her voice hidden underneath the temper she was displaying. The elevator doors came to an open and she stepped out, turning around to snatch the folder from Clark's arms as she pouted. "And you know what, you didn't even see Bigfoot."

Of all the things Clark had been told over the years, of all the arguments he'd had with his partner, _that_ was the low blow. He stumbled over his words at first, before shaking his head. "What? No, that was Bigfoot, I saw-"

"Hulk," She said, her pout turning into a frown, "You saw Hulk, Clark. He was in the area looking for a cure. Why do you think SHIELD was so up in arms about Harlem? Because Hulk was storming through."

For a moment, Clark wanted to glare at her and dispute this, but he sighed. He knew she was likely right in the Bigfoot aspect, but he also realized that Charlie Strauss had been pouting. And when Charlie Strauss pouted, Charlie Strauss got petty. "…You're just mad because Fury's punishing you," He remarked, running a hand through his chocolate colored hair.

There was no hesitation or embarrassment as Charlie nodded her head. "Yeah. And I'm taking you down with me, pal," She replied, pointing a trimmed down finger nail at him.

Clark shifted against the wall of the elevator, slipping his hands into the pockets of his suit pants. He tilted his chin upward, giving her a knowing (or as Charlie called it, 'shit-eating') grin. "If you wrote everything down in the report, we wouldn't be having this discussion."

The doors to the elevator closed just in time to protect Clark from a loud string of curses.


	4. Four

Thank you, guys, every one of you! I'm feeling quite encouraged to continue this story.

* * *

_Code Thirteen_

Charlie hated this.

In retrospect, she regretted not putting in every aspect of finding Rogers in the report. She wished she could go back in time, just three days prior, and change it. She should have known she would face consequences, however trivial the details she left out were. Fury had made it very clear when she first came to SHIELD to report everything. _Everything_. From someone burping to someone getting murdered, every little detail was to be given. And Charlie had left out an entire conversation between her and a presumed-to-be-dead man. Looking at it that way, she could see how that would be important.

She wasn't sure what she hated most, though – making the mistake in the first place, or being reprimanded. Neither of them were things Charlie sought out at SHIELD, or anywhere for that matter. Ever since she was a child, she hated being reprimanded, even if she knew she deserved it. From that, sprung her hatred for mistakes. Both had happened within a period of seventy-two hours, and by God, she hated that.

Charlie shoved a hand into one of the pockets of her pencil skirt and inside it, she felt her fingers brush against a familiar metal.

_Nathan nodded as well, looking down at the woman. He offered her his hand, saying, "My pleasure, Miss Strauss. Hopefully… Hopefully the medics can do more than we could." Charlie took his hand to shake it, and furrowed her brows as she felt an object being transferred from his hand to her own. She said nothing as the scientist shook Clark's hand, Charlie slipping the object into her jacket to look at later as they set off outside the wreckage of the plane._

She winced to herself; even after almost getting yelled at and being punished for leaving out details, she was _still_ committing the crime. Not that it was much of a crime, but she felt that way. Her brother would have laughed at that, having called her a goody-two-shoes all those years.

Sure, Charlie could see how her conversation needed to be in the report. He had woken, and he was talking, and he remembered who he was. Great. But Charlie honestly didn't see the harm in leaving out a simple compass. She wasn't even sure how important it was. A part of her insisted it couldn't be, it was just a compass – her other side, the part that hated her emotional well-being, told her that if Nathan Briggs had given it to her to keep it from getting confiscated, it was pretty damn important. Regardless, she chose to keep it out of the report and away from Fury. Clark didn't even know about it.

Pushing the doors open to the room she was guided to, Charlie nodded in thanks to the agent behind her before walking in. She stopped as soon she had entered. The room, with high walls and ceilings and a smooth cement floor, looked like an empty warehouse. There were no windows, and many of the lights were not in use. In the middle of the room, there were four walls built together to form a much smaller room.

This was not what Charlie was expecting. As she walked toward the room, she saw a woman speaking with a taller man in hushed tones. Charlie cleared her throat to let them know she'd arrived, and it worked. They turned their heads upon hearing her and smiled as she approached them. "Agent Strauss, I was told you were coming," The man spoke, holding out a hand to greet her. She took it, nodding in greeting as he added, "I'm Henry Grove, Rogers' new doctor. This young lady would be Emily Hall."

Charlie looked away from Grove and toward Hall, who smiled up at the agent. Charlie rose a brow at her appearance, her brown hair curled, her lips donned in bright red lipstick, and her skirt and blouse fashioned from the forties. "A pleasure meeting you, Agent Strauss. I'll be working with you over the next few days, until Mister Rogers wakes," The woman explained in a customer service kind of tone.

"Is there a particular reason Miss Hall is in this get-up?" Charlie questioned, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked between the two in front of her.

Hall shifted in her stance while Grove simply chuckled, slipping his hands inside of the pockets of his coat. "Yes, actually. It was Director Fury's decision. We wanted to break Rogers' situation to him… Gently. He's been placed in the room behind me, which has been built to stimulate his previous habitat," He explained.

Charlie's eyes locked in on his, and she frowned. "_Previous habitat_?" She repeated, stressing the words that sickened her a little. She didn't care how long he'd been in the ice or how much experimentation happened on him, he was a person, not an animal on display. _Aren't we all animals on display for Fury?_ She rose a brow at her thought, before shoving it away.

Before more could be exchanged between them, Hall placed a hand on Grove's elbow, stopping him from replying. "When Mister Rogers wakes up, Agent Strauss, he'll believe he's still in the forties. We believe it's the best way to explain everything to him," She spoke with a soft voice, looking up at Charlie with a confident gaze.

It did nothing but irk the SHIELD agent further. She was a stubborn woman, and this nurse in a costume was trying to soothe her with sugary words? Charlie scowled, knowing all too well that she was just angry at her situation, but damn it, pettiness made her feel better about it. "So you're planning on tricking a Super Soldier?" She accused, raising a golden brow. "That sounds fool-proof."

Grove lifted a hand, as though he would try and subdue her. "We assure you, this is the best route. As of now, he's stable and healthy. One would think he's sleeping, in fact. All the ice has been removed. We're just waiting for him to wake," He explained before patting Hall on the shoulder, "Now, I'll be making my leave. Ladies."

Charlie watched as he walked away, before looking back to the nurse. They stared one another down as Hall rubbed her arms, "Agent Strauss, I am not entirely comfortable with the idea of this fake room, either, but I don't think the director would put us in a situation we could not handle."

Charlie snorted. "You haven't met the director, have you?" She gave a small smile as the nurse shook her head, now letting concern shine through the cracks of her makeup. Patting her shoulder as Grove had done just minutes ago, Charlie motioned to the small set-up in the room, "May I go in?"

She waited as Hall stepped back and gave her a once over. With a small shrug, Hall stepped to the side. "I don't think he will wake so soon. And if he does, you don't look too… Modern, at the moment," She commented, before nodding her head, "I don't see the harm in it." Having just said the same words to herself, Charlie wondered if fate was sending her a message. She shrugged it off nonetheless, instead walking past Hall and toward the small door at the corner of the room. Opening the door, slow enough to make no noise, Charlie squeezed her body through the small opening she allowed herself.

The room was small and quaint, and Charlie almost wished it was her own. The carpeting, a navy blue color, matched the two-toned walls, the lower half a light blue and the top half a clean white. A heater sat under a tall window to Charlie's left, beside a small dresser in the corner. A radio was placed on the surface, playing the faint voice of a ball game commentary. In front of Charlie was a twin sized bed, the sheets matching the color scheme of the room. An end table was in the far left corner, next to the bed, with a lamp turned on beside it. A ceiling fan swung around in the middle of the room, casting a faint breeze. Steve Rogers was laid atop the bed.

Charlie edged closer to the window, curious about the sights of New York peeking through the yellow curtains. A screen placed on the outside, no doubt. She shook her head at the thought of how far SHIELD had gone to convince Rogers he was still in the forties. Weren't they going to be telling him the truth afterward? She placed a hand on the window sill, testing its sturdiness before she leaned against it. Looking back toward Rogers, she sighed and resting a hand in her lap as she took the compass out of her skirt pocket.

She took her time in studying the picture inside the lid of the metal compass, fiddling with the object in her fingers. The woman in the picture was beautiful. A square jaw that was perfect for her features complimented her straight nose and full lips. Her eyes were the part Charlie took most note of, and she wasn't sure what about them drew her in. She wasn't aware of the identity of this woman, but even she felt a tinge of heartache at a story she did not know.

Green eyes turning upward away from the compass, she looked toward Rogers' sleeping form. She could not find Peggy. She dug through files at SHIELD, she asked around, but she had little less than a day to do it in between arriving back in New York and reporting to Fury. A part of her urged to keep looking, and she was sure she would. Whoever Peggy was, Charlie would find her. Eventually.

Pushing off of the window sill, Charlie approached the bed. "This was the best I could do so far, Rogers," She murmured, glancing toward his closed eyes as she placed the compass on the edge of the end table. She grabbed the lid, turning it so that it faced him. "Sorry it wasn't more."

. . .

"_So the Dodgers are tied, four-to-four, and the audience well knows that with one swing of his bat, this fella's capable of making it a brand new game again…_"

The feeling of a light wind struck Steve's senses as he began to come to. The faint sound of a radio came to his ears, playing from his right. The smell of the room reminded him of home. He wanted it to be home, for so many reasons. He could remember the jolts of the crash like he was still living through it, and he wanted nothing more than to wake up at home. He knew in the back of his mind it wouldn't be, but he desperately hoped it was. Opening his eyes, he stared up at a brown ceiling fan, creaking under pressure. Above it was a white roof, light spilling across it from what he assumed was a window.

No, this wasn't home.

Steve narrowed his eyes, even if it was slight, and darted them toward the corner of the room, where he saw the dresser and the window. It was a comfortable atmosphere, but something was off. Something was wrong. He watched the radio, listening closer as he felt the pull of his brows furrowing together. "_It's a gorgeous day here at Ebbets field. The Phillies have managed…_"

Turning his head, Steve came face-to-face with a familiar picture, taped to the lid of a compass. All doubts were shoved aside as he moved his hands, pushing himself up with more enthusiasm than intended. He reached for the compass and held it in his lap, looking down at the image of Peggy Carter. Absentmindedly, he twisted his body, moving his legs off the edge of the bed to sit up.

It was when he caught the sound of the radio once more that he was brought back to the current point in time. "_Here comes the relay, but they won't get it!_" He looked over, turning to glance at the radio with surprise. That sounded… More than just familiar.

He had no time to continue thinking it over, as a door he hadn't yet noticed opened. He looked toward it, his shoulders stiffening in alarm. A woman entered the room, her dark brown hair curling just over her chest and her matching eyes aimed at him. She smiled, but she didn't _smile_, not in the way someone's eyes would light up and crinkle from raised cheeks. Not like how Peggy smiled. "Good morning," She greeted with a smooth voice, closing the door behind her. Glancing to the watch at her wrist, she attempted a grin as she added, "Or should I say afternoon?"

Her eyes darted down to the compass in his eyes and, for just a moment, he spotted suspicion in her eyes. The woman shook her head, ever so slightly, and looked up toward Steve. As she placed her hands in front of her, clasping them together, he scooted closer and closer toward the edge of his bed. "Where am I?" He asked her.

There was the smallest of hesitation that told him something was off. "You're in a recovery room, in New York City," She answered him, maintaining her simple smile.

"_The Dodgers take the lead, eight-to-four! Woah, doctor! Everyone's on their feet. What a game we have here today, folks._"

Steve watched the radio, his frown deepening. Yes, he was sure of it. Everything was wrong. Panic rose in him, as well as suspicion. He looked back to the woman in front of him, who seemed oblivious to the thoughts running through his mind. "Where am I, really?"

More hesitation radiated from her as she flashed him a toothy smile and rubbed her palms together. "I'm afraid I don't understand," She tried to chuckle out, shaking her head.

He kept his sights trained on her movement as the corner of her lips turned downward. The radio continued to play, the voice saying everything Steve had already heard before. Did they expect his memory to have gone away? He crashed, he did not die and come back. "The game," He began, firm with his tone, "It's from May, 1941. I know 'cause I was there." The smile on the woman's face left entirely.

Steve lifted himself from the bed, turning toward her as he gripped his compass, snapping it shut. The thought of being in enemy hands made his stomach flip, and it gave him the determination he needed to step forward and tower over the woman in front of him. "Now I'm gonna ask you again. Where am I?"

The woman moved her hands to her side, trying hard not to back away. "Captain Rogers…"

"Who are you?" He asked loudly. Within an instant, the door was open, and men came rushing into the room with foreign looking uniforms. He was the one to step back, shoulders tensing as he looked between the woman and the obvious soldiers.

Charlie was outside the small set-up, flipping through Steve Rogers' folder as she waited for Hall to come back outside and report his status to her. So far her work, which had lasted a day already, had been tedious and, quite frankly, boring. She missed her old position, watching Selvig with Clint Barton and Clark. At least she had someone to talk to, if she needed the social boost. She had placed several guards in the warehouse, but none of them were interested in talking, and then there was Hall. Hall was fine, in theory at least. In actuality, she was not someone Charlie would have wanted to interact with.

She sighed, looking back at an old photo of Rogers. A much smaller Rogers. How many times she had read this folder, she was not sure, having lost count around number fourteen and fifteen. _He doesn't wake up any time soon, I'll have this damn thing memorized, _she bitterly mused to herself.

The fates must have been feeling kind to her. No sooner had she placed Rogers' photo back underneath the paperclip, a part of the wall to the contraption in the warehouse blew out. She jumped, almost dropping the folder in her hands. She looked up just in time to see two of the guards falling to the ground, underneath chunks of the fake wall. And seconds later, Steve Rogers leaped out of the new hole, looking around the warehouse in a panic.

Charlie wanted to cuss out every agent and doctor who supported the idea of a fake room. _It's for the best, my ass_. She shoved the folder into the arms of the nearest guard, who glared at her as she did so.

Hall came out of the hole, exclaiming, "Captain Rogers, wait!" It was obvious Steve didn't have this in mind, spinning on his heel and running for the doors. He burst through them as he heard Hall's voice echoing through the building. "_All agents, Code Thirteen._"

Having left the room, Steve came to see a long stretch of a hall. Tall windows lined the walls in front of him, looking out into what appeared to be a city. Several people, mostly men, stood in the hall in dark suits. "Rogers!" Steve turned and spotted the the woman the new voice belonged to.

She was taller than most women he'd met, but still shorter than him (his height was still weird to him.) She was thin and lean, long legs emphasized by black high heels and a gray skirt. He was not close to her, but he could still make out her oval shaped face; her round, slanted eyes; a thin nose; and oval, undefined lips. Maybe it was the light flooding in from the windows, but her hair seemed to be an exact match to gold, shining boldly in waves around her shoulders. Her hair, and her deep green eyes, were familiar. He wanted to know how, but every part of him demanded he not stick around and find out.

Turning once more, Steve ran for it just as the people in the hall began their chase, including the golden haired woman. _Mainly_ the golden haired woman, it would seem.

If he had looked back, he would have seen Charlie yanking off her heels with more than enough delight in the act. He would have seen her continuing her chase after him, gaining speed faster than any of the men in the room. And, had he looked back, he would have seen her closing in, and lunging for the kill, so to speak. And he would have possibly dodged, or maybe caught her at a better angle so she would avoid the aches later.

Instead, her body slammed into the back of his with enough force to have him staggering on his feet. He was surprised by the impact, more than anything, as he managed to catch himself before his balance gave way. Slender, soft-skinned arms wrapped around his neck and if this were any other situation, he surely would have blushed and gotten nervous as this woman wrapped herself around him. As her legs rested at the sides of his own, her feet less than a foot from the ground, he gritted his teeth, pulling at her arms. "Get off me!"

"Stop running!" She replied in an instant, her voice bold and her breath hitting the right side of his neck and his ear. He felt her push herself higher to gain a better advantage over him, causing her heel to dig into his thigh. This woman was flexible, wasn't she?

The two struggled against one another for several seconds and a few agents began gathering around to watch the scene unfold, before Steve managed to remove her arms from his neck. Just before she could react, he pushed his elbow into her stomach, throwing her off him in the process. He took off as soon as her body left his, especially refusing to look back now that he'd hit a lady.

Charlie groaned on her back, staring at the ceiling. He had a punch, she would give him that. A familiar, brunette face came into her sights and she glared up at Clark with a dramatic scowl. She pointed up at him, the same as she had done on the elevator the day prior. "That didn't happen."

The agent chuckled as held a hand out for her to take. Once she did, he pulled her to her feet, replying, "All I saw was a gravity inspection."

She stared at Clark for a few moments, before shaking her head. "I'd rather admit to getting knocked down by Captain America," She told him as she turned, eyes scanning the room for her heels. A part of her told her to hell with those shoes, but they were the only heels she had. She wasn't going into work in sneakers.

Clark grinned from behind her. "After you wrapped yourself around him like an octopus. A sexy octopus, but an octopus," He commented, ignoring his temporarily-former partner's glare. "Wait till Barton hears about this one. Wait till _Stark _hears about this one." He laughed as she threw the one heel she'd managed to find at him, and he hurried off to the exit of the building. He did have a plane to catch, after all. And Charlie, once she finished searching for her heels, had a Super Soldier to find.


	5. Five

_People Like Me_

Thinking back on it, Charlie realized that jumping on Captain America was probably a bad idea.

He had tossed her to the ground like she was a rag-doll, and she wasn't used to that. She was used to taking men down, not being thrown backwards by an _elbow_. This was something a Super Soldier was capable of, and she should have thought over that before acting. Instead, she was going to have a horrible bruise on her stomach later with an aching back and on top of it all, she could expect a phone call from _Stark_ later on behavior around men. She grimaced at the thought. Tony Stark never gave up the chance to torment anyone at SHIELD. She hadn't even found her other heel.

Rubbing her back, Charlie frowned as she looked up at the man in front of her. To make matters worse, _Fury_ was the one to collect Rogers from outside of the SHIELD building. She'd let her charge run off after she jumped him, and _Fury_ was there to pick up the pieces of her shattered dignity, and hoard them away to hold over her head later. She was sure that was his intention.

They were both standing in front of a window peering into SHIELD'S version of an interrogation room, which meant it was small and confined, and probably less inviting than the room Steve Rogers had woken in. The man was sitting at a table in the room, fiddling with his compass (which caused Charlie to wince under Fury's glare.) Fury was tense, as though Rogers was about to jump from his seat any second and attack him. Fury's fingers even twitched like they were ready to fire a weapon. Charlie eyed him with caution as he began to speak. "There's been a change of plans, Agent Strauss."

She would have snorted if it were anyone but Fury. Because it _was_ Fury, she remained quiet, keeping her expression blank. The man turned his gaze down onto her and handed her the folder she was more familiar with than she wanted to admit. A slip of paper was clipped to the top corner of it with an address and as she scanned over the words, Fury began to speak. "He's still in your charge. Talk to him. Make sure he's fine."

Charlie nodded, eying Rogers' frown. "Will he be okay with that?" She mumbled, gripping at the folder just a little tighter than before.

If she hadn't known him any better, she would have said Fury's eye _twinkled_. The corner of his lips twitched, ever so slightly, into a subtle smirk. He looked down at her with an accusing gaze, sarcasm laced in his words. "Unless you're planning on jumping on him again, I doubt we'll have a problem," He commented.

Heat rose from Charlie's cheeks and she struggled not to let her blushing show. It was worse than she thought if the director was making fun of her. "I… Point taken, Director," She muttered, pouting as she looked back through the one-sided mirror of the interrogation room. "But may I have this conversation with him in the kitchen? I don't think the current environment will comfort him any."

There was a small shrug of Fury's shoulders as he headed for the door. "He's your charge. You thought you knew what was best for him back in the Arctic. Do what you want, Agent Strauss," He answered, swinging the door open, turning to shoot her a pointed look just as the door swung to a close behind them, separating the two.

_By all means, kick me while I'm down, Director_… She scowled, turning to the agent standing in the corner. He was doing his best not to smile, and she was thankful for it, even if it did get under her skin. "Put Rogers in the kitchen, will you? I'll be there once I… Find some shoes."

. . .

Charlie walked into the kitchen with a sour disposition. She had lost her dignity, she was still being 'punished' by Fury, and she had to resort to wearing an old pair of converse one of the female agents kept with her as a spare. They were bright blue and looked odd with Charlie's dress-suit. She wasn't matching any more. Granted, she loathed her skirt and her blouse and her blazer, but she had to _match_. Clark had teased her about the obsessive desire ever since they first started working together, but she had always done her best to ignore it.

She had an appreciation for the SHIELD kitchen, though. It was spacious, to accommodate the many agents passing through it during meals. Many gray marbled counters lined the wall to Charlie's right, in between a silver stove top and refrigerator. A coffee maker and a toaster sat on a counter next to the fridge, the coffee maker with a little less than half a cup's worth still stirring in the pot. A small table was placed near the counters, four chairs at either side, while a larger table for more agents was at Charlie's left. Windows covered the entire far wall, looking out to the city of New York.

Rogers sat at the smaller, circled table, and the agent who'd brought him there was occupying himself with the task of making more coffee. Rogers kept his compass in his hands, looking down at the picture of who Charlie assumed was Peggy instead of watching the dimming cityscape. It was odd for Charlie to try and imagine how it must have felt to see a city that not only changed its layout, but changed everything – from the cars to the modern technology to the transition of fashion to the simple change of attitude in people. Nothing was the same for Steve Rogers anymore. Even the people he knew were gone.

With a sigh, Charlie shook the thoughts out of her head as she made her way toward the table, startled when her shoes didn't tap across the tile. _Oh, right_, she snorted. Stepping up to the chair opposite of Rogers, she placed a hand on the back of the chair and watched as he kept his eyes glued to his compass. "So that was yours?"

Rogers gave a small jump before looking up, noticing Charlie's presence for the first time. She motioned to the compass and he nodded, frowning in confusion. "Yeah…," He mumbled.

She pulled her lips into a tight smile and nodded. "Good," Charlie began before an awkwardness started showing through the cracks of her business-like exterior, a chuckle escaping her lips, "I was worried for a while that it was Schmidt's. That would have been a weird thing to wake up to." A look crossed her features as though she realized what she had said. Really, _that_ was weird? _I can handle reporting to higher-ups about assassination but I can't have a simple conversation without screwing up._

Charlie scolded herself, but Rogers sent her a look of contempt regardless. "Not as weird as a fake bedroom," He retorted, muttering under his breath. He didn't break eye contact as he snapped his compass to a sharp close.

If she hadn't read his folder over as many times as she did, Charlie would have been intimidated by the simple gesture. The agent at the coffee maker certainly was – he stood straighter, focusing more of his attention on the two others in the room with him. Charlie, instead of feeling smaller under Rogers' gaze, turned even more to awkwardness. She tried gathering the pieces of her stringent attitude back together, but it was becoming harder with every second. She rubbed the back of her neck, sending him an apologetic grin. "Right, right." Her eyes shifted before she motioned to Rogers, clearing her throat. "I'm sorry… About, you know, jumping on you. I don't normally resort to that."

The haughty scowl Rogers had on his face dimmed. She spotted him giving her a quick once-over, not moving from his seat, when he asked, "Did I hurt you?"

Charlie sighed, not oblivious in the least to the now-smirking agent at the coffee maker. "Just my pride, Mister Rogers," She replied, before frowning. Mister Rogers. That sounded weird. Flashbacks to her childhood and her nephew's childhood played through her mind and she resisted a snort. Steve Rogers was most _definitely_ not like Mister Rogers. That was obvious. Pulling out the chair she had a hold on, Charlie sunk herself into it as she looked back to Rogers. "May I call you Steve, or just Rogers?" He nodded, but she continued. "Mister Rogers just reminds me of cardigans and corny one-liners._"_

At the sight of his maintained frown and the sound of the agent at the coffee maker snorting into his coffee mug, Charlie did grimace. _Oh my God, did I just insult Captain America?_ She rubbed her forehead; not only did she insult him, he had no idea it was an insult. _Mister Rogers' Neighborhood _was past Rogers' time, in every sense of the phrase. "Obscure reference, sorry, I'll… Stop talking," Charlie coughed out as she re-straightened her pose, glaring up at the other agent, who was far more amused than Charlie wanted him to be.

"You look familiar."

Charlie jumped a bit at the sound of Rogers' voice and she looked toward him. He eyed her features with scrutiny, and she nodded. "Oh, we, uh… Had a conversation," She explained briefly.

Rogers' brows furrowed together in clear confusion. "A conversation?" He repeated.

"Yes, Sir, you were in…" Her eyes wandered as she searched for the appropriate word in her vocabulary. She found none. Instead, she rose her brows as she continued, "Mid-melt. Very brief." Steve's eyes were cast down to the table as he thought over her response. It did not take long to remember her.

_She looked surreal. A light above him reflected off her golden hair, forming a halo. She stared down at him just as he looked up toward her. He had never met her before, but she seemed to know him. "I'll make sure you get out of this safe, alright, Steve?" Her voice, bold and strong, was forced into a calming charm._

_Whatever held him down was weakened over his right arm, and he took advantage. He lifted his hand and pushed against what felt like ice, and he felt it breaking underneath his strength. Once free, he reached toward the woman above him, and grabbed her arm. Her eyes widened at his movements, and even he was surprised he managed it. "Peggy_… _Need Peggy."_

_Her eyes went wider as she looked down at him, scanning over his features for any hints or clues about what he wanted. Finally, she smiled. "I'll find Peggy for you, okay?" He tried nodding, but winced at the movement that stung him. "Just hang on."_

Turning from the compass to her and back again, he began to make the connection. "How do you feel, Rogers?" Charlie's voice startled him from his thoughts, and he frowned from the irritation it left him with.

Looking toward Charlie, he took notice of the folder at her hands. His alias was on the front in small, black letters. "For starters, I want some answers," He muttered, eyes moving from the folder to the woman.

"I can imagine," She murmured, "There's a lot you've missed in the past seventy years."

When she waved her hand for him to ask what he wished, Steve did so. "Did we win?" He asked her, his tone simple and to the point as he waited with little patience. It had been gnawing at him since he woke.

Charlie nodded, lips curling into a subtle grin. "September second, 1945," She stated. "Japan was the last to surrender."

Glancing away, Steve remained quiet. The end of a war passed while he was frozen, and it made him feel helpless. He had struggled to help his country, and in the end, he still wasn't even there. Steve turned his head and nodded his chin toward Charlie. "Who are you?" He questioned.

It looked like instinct when she made point-blank eye contact with Steve. Her already stiff posture had become even more alert. "SHIELD agent Charlie Strauss," She introduced. It was a uniform response, one Steve knew well.

"What is SHIELD?" He asked, brows furrowing. Fury had given him a small briefing – a briefing which was very vague – about being Director of SHIELD, but there were still many questions unanswered.

Charlie maintained her uniformity. "The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division," She explained, surprisingly in one breath. Steve felt his brows raise in what felt like respect for her rehearsal.

"That's a mouthful," he muttered under his breath.

The straight-laced attitude once again chipped away from Charlie as her lips quirked into a subtle smirk. Two of her fingers reached out to fiddle with a corner of Steve's folder absentmindedly. "Try memorizing it. Agents should get a raise just for that," She mused. Steve lightened the look he had pointed at Charlie, feeling the tiniest bit of comfort at her loosened posture. It was obvious to him she was not as serious as she let on. She sighed, still fiddling with his folder in her hands. "We're an international intelligence agency. We sometimes… Take care of the world when it comes to 'super humans.'"

Steve motioned to himself, watching her for any reaction she would have. "People like me."

She nodded. Her eyes flickered downward for a moment as she clasped her hands together. "People like you," She murmured, before snorting. A chuckle left her throat as she waved her hand back and forth, and Steve came to the conclusion he liked it. Charlie had a contagious kind of laugh, the kind that soothed the nerves. "Though, granted, I didn't expect you _exactly_ when I got this job." The woman shifted in her seat to achieve more comfort before she continued. "Speaking of that matter, you are currently under my charge, Rogers. I'm to make sure you get… Settled in, in the city. My job is providing transportation, answering any questions you may have, helping you so that you may live independently."

"How independent?" He asked, still resting his arms on the table in front of him.

Charlie's response was blunt. "Not as much as you would like, I'm sure," She told him.

With a small sigh, Steve finally glanced over his shoulder and toward the set of windows behind him. He had no interest in looking at it before. It was so… Different and, quite frankly, ugly. It looked big and superficial and lonely. What appeal was that supposed to provide? "I take it a lot has changed," He mumbled.

Charlie watched him, trying to understand his situation as best she could. "More than you would probably expect," She remarked, nodding.

A silence fell upon the two as they sat there, an unreadable expression on Steve's face as his eyes darted from the windows toward his hands, where the closed compass rested. Charlie wiggled her fingers outside her clasped hands and leaned against the back of her chair, taking in a moment of quiet. She never got those around Clark and after the chaos of the day, silence before she had to go out into New York was a pleasant welcome.

Checking the watch at her wrist, Charlie pushed herself up from the table, causing Steve to look back at her in acknowledgment. She nodded to the agent still in the kitchen before turning back to Steve. "We have acquired an apartment for you in the city. If you have no objections, I will take you there now," She told him.

Steve looked around the kitchen in silence, his head turned toward the fridge before giving a slow nod. "I'd like to eat first," He murmured, glancing up to Charlie from the corner of his eyes.

A smile graced Charlie's oval lips. She shook her head, dismissing the fridge. "I know a diner down the road from here where we can pick something up. Trust me, it's better than the food they make _us_ eat," She replied, glancing to the agent who nodded in agreement. Most food was better than SHIELD's food, and there was no way Charlie was going to let that slop be the first meal Steve Rogers would have in seventy years. Besides, she was craving a cheeseburger.

While Charlie grabbed for the folder she'd been given, Steve stood from the table. Charlie did well hiding the surprise she felt upon seeing him at his full height. Sure, she had jumped on him earlier that day, but that was in the heat of the moment. He was _big_. She finally started to feel a little intimidated by his appearance.

Raising a hand to motion to the door, he nodded his head down at her. "After you, Ma'am."

"…" Charlie's shoulders dropped in surprise. _Politely intimidating. Right._ Clutching the folder to her chest, Charlie turned on her heel as she murmured, "Erm, thank you." She sent a slight wave toward the amused agent in the kitchen before leading Steve to the doors. Charlie could almost taste the mental images of an actual cooked meal.


	6. Six

_High Fashion_

The drive to the diner was a stiff one at best. Charlie had no objections to silence, but the one that filled her black sedan was uncomfortable. She understood why. Steve needed space, he needed some time to gather his thoughts about this new generation he was thrown into.

She had noticed Steve eying her car once they left the SHIELD headquarters, as well as all the other cars on the street. They had left with a mutual, faint comfort between the two, neither of them feeling the need to speak – until Charlie had opened the passenger door for Steve. He almost looked disturbed by the act. Before she could ask him about it, he had spoken, mumbling just loud enough for her to hear, "With the way I was raised, I'm supposed to open doors for you."

This put Charlie a bit on edge. It was clear they were both unused to each other's ways. Charlie worked at SHIELD for nine years, and she had been in New York even longer. Out of all of those years, not once did she witness someone offering a door or a chair or calling her 'ma'am.' Even back home, where it was more common, it was still _not_ common. At SHIELD, even less so. She was an agent at SHIELD and niceties were trivial. Steve seemed to disagree. It was uncommon to walk into a room first, and it was really uncommon to look at a woman as though she were a man.

At the time, Charlie had cleared her throat and glanced downward to avoid eye contact. "Y-Yes, but you're in my charge, Rogers. I have to make sure you're in the vehicle before I am," She had explained to him. She knew she sounded awkward, and it was verging on pathetic.

For the first time in her career, her charge refused. He had shaken his head, shut the car door without entering into it, walked around to the driver's seat, and opened Charlie's door. Charlie was too surprised to say anything about his actions. He turned to look at her, his expression telling her he was not budging on this. He may have been frozen seventy years, but he wasn't dropping his manners for it.

The two had gotten into the car and she drove off in an awkward silence.

With a sigh blowing through her nose, she glanced toward him in the passenger's seat as she reached a red light. Steve's attention was focused through the window, racing over every aspect of New York City. There were many emotions in his eyes and Charlie had a sense that only a few of them were positive ones, if there were any at all. She worried for a moment that he might have a panic attack, as she knew it was very well possible she would if in his situation. New York was… Busy. Even as the sky was darkening, it was fast-paced and people were everywhere. None of them looked especially approachable, most scurrying down the sidewalk to their destination before all of the natural light left the city.

Then there was the technology. Screens were almost everywhere advertising this new drug hitting shelves and those new stores down the street or that new gadget coming out in a week which was 'infinitely better' than its ancestor gadget that was just out a month ago. Even thinking of everything around her made Charlie feel light-headed, and she was native to this time period. Steve was a ghost of another time, and he knew it.

Charlie frowned, eyes scanning the road as she turned a corner. Why did she have to think about it so much? Now she was upset and feeling sorry for someone and, judging by what she'd seen so far, Steve wasn't the kind of person that wanted your pity. Hell, it wouldn't have surprised her if he started feeling sorry for everyone else. Her fingers tightened around the wheel as she tried pushing away her feelings.

Before she had even realized it, she was pulling up to a small diner. She had lied a bit when she said it was just down the road. It was a bit out of the way, and the location it was in was nowhere near as crowded or hectic or anxiety-inducing as where they were before. Charlie almost rolled her eyes at herself. Maybe she was exaggerating a bit about the bustle of New York, but it was how _she_ felt. Regardless, Steve seemed aware of her intentions, and looked to appreciate the notion.

She cracked a smile in his direction, finally speaking up since they got into the car. "If it's all the same to you, I'd like to get out myself at the very least," She mused, trying to sound as light as she could.

There was a small upward twitch of his lips and for a quick moment, Charlie thought she saw him being bashful. "If you insist, Ma'am," He murmured as he reached for his own door latch. The both of them climbed out of her sedan, Charlie locking the doors behind her. Once she reached him on the sidewalk, he glanced back to the car. "They're a lot different than how I remember them," He commented.

Charlie gave a small snort. Putting the keys back into her pocket, she led him to the door of the diner as she said, "You should see Lamborghinis."

The diner was of plain design, a small square building with a kitchen in the back and a simple dining area up front. A top portion of the wall separating the two was gone, allowing others to look in and watch the cook at work. Windows on the right were placed over double chaired tables, with the ones suited for larger groups placed in the middle of the room. An elderly couple sat in the far corner, not turning their attention away from one another. The white floors and light green walls looked clean enough, and a silver cash register was off to the left of the front door. Rock music memorabilia were nailed to all four walls, honoring Elvis, the Beatles, Johnny Cash, and Jimi Hendrix. None of whom Steve was familiar with.

A brunette woman at the register nodded to them, taking two menus from her stand. "Welcome."

Charlie returned the nod as Steve's eyes wandered over the diner. He glanced back to the women at his side, waiting for the employee to take the lead. And she did so, walking toward a table under the windows and placing down the menus. Knowing Charlie wouldn't wait for it, Steve stuck out his hand, pulling a chair out before she could reach the table. Both women eyed him for a moment, one still feeling awkward and the other curious about the two new customers. Charlie mumbled a thanks to him as she sat down, before he took his seat across from her.

It didn't take long to order their meals. Charlie knew what she had a craving for the second she stepped foot in the Arctic, let alone the diner, and Steve had asked for the same thing, deciding to keep it simple his first day… Back, for lack of a better word. The waitress took down their orders and walked off toward the kitchens, leaving Charlie and Steve at the table.

"It all looks so…" Charlie turned her attention to Steve as he spoke, and saw his eyes directed outside the window. There was a lost expression in them. He was so unsure, of all the changes he'd seen so far, of how many more there would be, of what he was doing alive after all those years. Of how to handle his losses and the sudden twist of events in his life.

He tried hard to find the right word to finish his remark and watched as a woman walked by the window, wearing a low-cut, short-end dress and little else. Charlie knew she was likely returning home from a party, but she couldn't help but feel sympathetic when Steve's eyes widened. He jerked his sight back to the table and she frowned as the waitress brought them their drinks. She felt a little bad as she realized the man in front of her was actually bashful. This time period was not going to do him any favors in that aspect. "They call that high fashion these days," Charlie spoke.

Steve's brows furrowed in together as he looked up toward Charlie. "Why? There's… Hardly any clothing," He mumbled, shifting in his seat. Things really were different. His shoulders were tense, clearly not comfortable with seeing so much skin, let alone talking about it.

Glancing down to her office blouse, Charlie shook her head as she thought of her closet. It was full, that was for sure – she never denied being a stereotypical woman in that aspect – but they were all simple. Cheap and easy to blend is what she bought for. She tried, and she tried hard, to remember the last time she wore anything 'fashionable'. The only thing that came to mind was her office apparel. She did work too much, didn't she? Clark was right all those years. "You're asking the wrong girl, Rogers," She replied with a small sigh, taking a sip of her water.

Steve went quiet for a few seconds, watching Charlie with an unreadable expression. "Where are you from?" He asked, breaking the temporary silence between them. At Charlie's confused gaze, he waved his hand as to better explain himself. He cleared his throat, and added, "Your accent, it's…"

Charlie nodded as the realization of what he meant dawned on her. It surprised her a little how he picked up on what was a faint drawl of her vowels. Her 'accent,' others called it, was nowhere near as obvious as when she first moved to New York. "Forest Park, Georgia," She replied with her routine answer, placing her hands into her lap. "Moved to New York when I was sixteen."

"Why the move?" He questioned her with a curiosity she believed to be sincere.

There was a small shrug of Charlie's shoulders as she glanced to the scenery outside the windows. "My brother moved here and became a police officer. A year later, I decided I wanted to be closer to him," She explained, her thoughts wandering to the brother she loved dearly.

In the same mood she had when they walked in, the waitress trotted over and placed down two plates. The cheeseburgers looked fresh, heat waving from the food, the delicious appearance tempting the hungry. Charlie nodded her head in thanks as Steve mumbled a thank you. The waitress smiled, most of it being aimed at Steve, before walking back to her register. Charlie grabbed a napkin while Steve continued his questions. "Do you come from a military family?" With her back straight, chin parallel to the ground and shoulders down, Charlie's posture was recognized by Steve the second he first saw her.

Charlie's answers remained simple and routine. Trust wasn't a problem for her with Steve, but she certainly wouldn't be giving a lot of information. "Yes, Sir," She nodded, "Mother in the Marines, Father in the U.S. Army."

"Do you talk to them often?" He asked her.

Charlie gave a long sigh. "My mother was killed in action when I was a kid, but I try with my father." She gave a weak chuckle, eying Steve with what she hoped turned out to be a lighthearted expression, "He wasn't all that pleased with me joining an intelligence agency. He wanted me in the Army like he was."

Steve nodded in understanding as he flipped a fry in between his fingers. "Is that why you moved to New York?"

"Partly. He got stricter as he got older." Charlie rose a brow, shrugging her shoulders, "Or as _I_ got older, I don't know which was the factor. Ran our home like a boot camp." Steve nodded, before the two fell into a peaceful quiet. They were both appreciative of having a nice meal.

The sky outside was dark by the time they were through with their food, and they were the only customers left in the diner. Charlie bit into the last of her fries, watching as Steve's stony expression began to weaken. He was more expressive than he probably thought, but she would keep that to herself (she'd been doing a lot of that lately, hadn't she?) "You know, not all of the world looks like this," Charlie spoke, motioning to the city outside the diner when Steve looked her way, "…If that helps any."

Steve gave a small, almost unnoticeable snort. "Does it look worse?" He muttered.

Charlie shook her head, replying, "If by worse, you mean even more technologically advanced, then no. There _is_ a lot of the world that looks like this, most of the country included. The people act generally the same way everywhere and in some places they dress weirder than they do here. But there are still areas that stayed intact…" Trailing off, she shrugged as she looked down to her food, grumbling, "Though some of those can be considered gang territory."

The speed at which Steve perked up and turned his attention to her made her realize what she had said. And it made her realize just how unhelpful it was. "Gang territory?"

She didn't hold back her cringing as she gripped the side of her head. "Ohh, I should shut up, shouldn't I?" She shook her head, hanging it down to face the remnants of her food with little dignity left. Could she say nothing right? This was going to be a lot harder than she thought and she began wondering if that was why Fury picked this assignment as her punishment in the first place. "That sounds like a really good idea, I'll just pipe down and… Stare at my fries."

What felt like a painful silence reached them. Charlie frowned at her plate as though it was responsible for her big mouth. She had prided herself on knowing when to keep her mouth shut and what not to say, but all of that seemed to fly out the window when it came to anything more personal than work. Now she was making Captain America worry about supposed, and exaggerated, gangland.

"I don't mind."

Charlie gave a slight jump, looking up toward Steve. Her eyes narrowed when she saw his lips twitch upward, but he looked down to the table, effectively hiding most of his expression. He looked back to her with a small nod. "I want you to be honest with me, Ma'am."

Pausing for a moment, she tried reading his eyes, which she had come to realize told more about him than the rest of his features. Finally, she nodded. "Alright then," She murmured, her voice a bit shaky. She would still have to get used to being _honest_, even if it was what he requested of her. She cleared her throat before looking to her watch. "L-Let's just get you to your apartment."

. . .

Walking into Steve's apartment (which was a few floors above her own, in fact), Charlie was a bit surprised at what was there. _SHIELD'S outdone themselves_, she paused, making a face, _as usual, really._ She looked around the room, taking note of the bathroom and the bedroom off to the right, a TV and bookshelf placed against the wall in between the two doors. To her left was the open kitchen, small but efficient. It was a simple apartment, but Charlie admired it.

Steve entered the room behind her, taking in the layout the same as she had done. He passed her, approaching an end table and two chairs in the middle of the room. Placing a hand on the top of the chair, he seemed to come to terms with it being his. Charlie cleared her throat as she stepped forward, motioning around the room as she began to speak. "I'm assuming there's just enough in your fridge to hold you over for a day or two. We can get groceries any time you need them. Your bedroom's there, of course, though I doubt there are many clothes. Unless you would prefer to stay inside tomorrow, I suggest we head to a department store to get some for you."

Steve looked toward her, impassive as she explained this to him. He nodded once she finished, glancing down to his shirt. Remembering that even the waitress at the diner eyed his attire, he knew he would need a change of clothing. "I'll see you in the morning, then," Charlie told him, turning to the door.

He looked back toward her, watching her as she headed for the door. "Ma'am," He called to her suddenly, and she spun on her feet to face him. Shifting from the faint embarrassment he felt, he picked an object up off the end table. It was long and black, and he held it up to show her. "W…What is this?" Charlie took note of the object he showed her, and gripped her hands together in front of her. Motioning to the flat screen against the wall, she voiced her response in a simple tone. "That would be a remote control for the television."

This was really going to take a while, wasn't it?


	7. Seven

_A Different Kind of Deceit_

Mornings were never easy for Charlie. They were routine, but they were never easy.

At five, and five on the dot, she would wake up. Not because her alarm went off, but because something in her head hated her and wanted her up three hours before she had to go into work. And no matter hard she would try to go back to sleep, it would be futile. She was up for good. She would drag herself out of bed, literally, using the end table by her side. She would get up and shuffle into the bathroom where she would have a small shock at her ragged appearance in the mirror. Every morning she looked liked she was pushed into a tornado, regardless of how lifeless she was when she slept. Forcing her hair to cooperate by soaking her head in a shower, she would let it dry itself as she made herself look appropriate.

She would have a glass of orange juice and a peach and by the time she was done, she would have an hour and a half left before she had to leave. So she would take apart her gun, clean it, reassemble it, reload it, and then stretch. And she would stretch until thirty minutes before she had to leave.

The thirty minutes that followed her morning routine were where the chaos started.

Everything she needed would manage to disappear. She'd have to hunt down her car keys, which were always in one of three spots but never seen until all three spots had been overturned six times each. Then the shoes she wanted to wear would go missing and she'd have crawl into her closet, hunting them down, and maybe kill a spider or two who decided to make their home over a SHIELD agent's sneaker. Her wallet would wind up in the _freezer_, every morning, and yet every morning, she would look everywhere else before checking the damn freezer. How it always turned up there, she did not want to know. After searching, and finding, all of her needed items, she would leave in a huff and have to narrowly avoid Miss Patsy living next to her who would stand outside her door watching, and trying to talk to, everyone who left for work. And unluckily for Charlie, having to go in the opposite direction as usual in order to pick up Steve Rogers meant having to walk past Miss Patsy.

So, when Charlie had finally reached Steve's apartment, her outfit was a tad on the disheveled side, having ran up the stairs instead of waiting at the elevator. The elevator was Miss Patsy's accomplice. Everyone in the complex said so.

Steve opened the door fairly quick after Charlie had knocked. The look on his face told her he had gotten little sleep, and it was true. He came to hate his apartment room overnight. It was harsh and unforgivable. Nothing in it reminded him of what he knew, what he was used to. It was quiet, save for the movements of his new neighbors, and he was unsure of how to work most of the appliances in the kitchen, let alone the gadgets placed throughout the house. His apartment was not a comfort zone.

Charlie was becoming a comfort zone. She was someone to talk with and as long as there were more things for him to notice about her, it kept his mind from straying. She didn't understand what he was going through, but she knew she never would. He needed that normalcy.

He eyed her appearance in front of him, sleeves of a forest green hoodie shoved to her elbows, a red shirt ruffled and slightly raised from running, and her blue jeans with worn edges at the bottom. So this was her casual. "Morning," She mumbled, nodding her head in greeting as her panting came to a slow end. He returned her nod with his own as she stepped to the side. "Ready to leave?"

. . .

Finding a department store had been a challenge in its own right. Unsure of what Steve wanted and needed, Charlie wanted to stick with the simplest option, being the mall. It was large and it had a variety of stores and there was bound to be something Steve would find he wanted. But the mall was also one of the most terrifying places.

Charlie liked shopping. She wouldn't deny it. It was relaxing to forget about work and assignments and Fury and Clark's next conspiracy theory for an hour, and focus solely on the trivial aspects of her life like clothing. She never went out of her way to buy a lot, but she had fun with herself. Even she did not like the mall. It was crowded, regardless of the time of day, and many of the girls wandering the stores were as shameless as the vendors begging them to view their products. Charlie liked quiet. She liked peace. She didn't like fashionable World War III.

So Charlie had come up with a new plan.

Pulling up to Macy's, Charlie could see the recognition dawning on Steve's features and she knew her decision had been a good one. The two climbed out of her car and looked up at the building in front of them. It was large, with the Macy's sign in bold, obvious letters above the front doors. "Macy's is still around?" Steve remarked in pleasant surprise as Charlie reached his side.

She nodded, a small grin tugging at her lips. "One of the few that survived the past several decades."

They walked inside (Steve insisting she go in first, again) to see the layout of a large department store. Signs were hanging from the ceiling directing customers to areas of the building, each section a different category of product. A woman at the counter nodded to them in greeting and the two returned it as they walked along the smooth tiling floors toward the back of the store.

The men's section of the store had a wide variety of clothing. Shirts of several colors and patterns hung from racks, as well as a good sized selection of jeans and pants. Charlie slowed in her steps, falling in line behind Steve to let him take lead. His eyes scanned over the area, fingers flipping through shirts and pants. Once Charlie had caught sight of the sizes Steve had been picking out, as well as the style of clothing, she began her own search for articles to hand him.

Examining a plaid shirt before pulling it off the rack, Steve glanced toward Charlie. She was flipping through shirts, content with the task she'd given herself. He watched her for a moment, thinking over what to say to her. Earlier in the day, he'd made up his mind to ask her about SHIELD. He never heard of the organization before he 'woke', and little information had been provided so far.

Steve walked toward Charlie with a small number of shirts and pants in his hands. Reaching her, he stopped and looked to the clothing she was shifting through. After a moment, he leaned in and mumbled in her ear, "I want to know more about SHIELD."

The woman gave a small jump at the proximity of his voice. She looked over her shoulder, glancing up at the Super Soldier standing behind her. As she flipped through a few polo shirts, she nodded. "Okay, erm, where should I start with that?" She asked him with uncertainty.

Resting an elbow on the top of the clothing rack in front of her, Steve scanned over their surroundings. No one was there, save for another man at the end of the section. "How about why they were looking for me?" He questioned, turning back to face her.

Charlie's eyes drifted above the clothes as she stared mid-air, thinking over her answer. With a small shrug, she replied, "Well, Howard Stark started looking for you after… You know. Two decades later, he founded SHIELD, and from there, SHIELD started searching." Charlie trailed off for a moment and sighed, looking around with the same suspicion as Steve. "Director Fury doesn't tell us a lot of things. I can only assume Howard Stark searched because you were his friend. I believe SHIELD's motives are more to do with the Super Soldier serum."

Steve watched as a woman walked by, waiting for her to pass. Brows furrowing, he looked to her with a new thought crossing his mind. "You said SHIELD works with super humans. Are there more people like me?" A flicker of curiosity and hesitance passed through his eyes – how many _Super Soldiers_ were walking around as he spoke?

Pulling a shirt off the rack, she held it up toward Steve's form. He blinked a few times, processing her movements, before lowering his arms and standing straight. Charlie nodded her head in faint approval before glancing up toward him. "Not like you, exactly. More like people with certain abilities outside of the norm, or people whose bodies reacted to accidents in a… Surreal fashion," She mumbled her last words, lips tugging downward.

She ignored his look of interest and turned, walking to another clothing rack. Steve was hot on her heels, following after her quickly. "What do you mean?"

With another sigh, she turned and looked back up at him. "For instance, there's Doctor Bruce Banner. A few years ago, he was working on gamma radiation. There was an accident and… He transformed. Tore up the facility. He changes when he loses control of his anger," She explained to him, trying to keep it brief. She wasn't so sure Banner was a subject SHIELD would like her explaining to Rogers, who looked disturbed by the details she'd already given him.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he frowned. He was well aware Charlie was leaving out certain details, and it unnerved him. "And SHIELD watches him?" He asked her, raising a brow.

She nodded, returning his serious expression with her own. "We do our best to," She replied. Before he could speak again, she tossed a pair of pants into his abdomen. He grabbed at it on instinct, looking down to examine the clothing. When he looked back toward her, she jerked her head into the direction of the changing rooms.

Steve walked into one of the stalls inside the hall of dressing rooms and Charlie sat onto one of the cushioned seats against the wall, her view blocked by the stall door. Crossing a leg onto a knee, she leaned back and made herself comfortable. Steve, changing inside the stall, paused before he slipped a shirt over his head. He glanced to the door as though he could see through it to the woman waiting for him. "Howard," He began loudly, trailing off with a deep frown, "Is he…"

Charlie had looked up from her lap toward the stall door when she heard his voice. Pressing the back of her head against the wall, she answered, "He died, 1987."

It shouldn't have surprised him. It had been seven decades since he last saw Howard Stark, but Steve still felt remorse. Just how much more did he miss while he was gone? Slipping his arms into the sleeves of another shirt, he debated over the next question. Was it something he really wanted to know? "Did he have family?"

He wasn't sure Charlie had heard him, until her voice echoed in the dressing rooms. "A wife, and a son. His son took over Stark Industries. You'll probably be seeing a lot of him soon. Always all over the news. His wife's passed." He nodded, though she couldn't see it in the stall, and tugged the shirt off his torso. Charlie sat, not speaking afterward, listening to the faint ruffling of Steve's movements. She looked around her, taking in the clean walls and the security camera in the corner. With a small sigh, she glanced back to the stall Steve was in. "If there's anybody else you want to know about, feel free to ask."

There was more movement in the stall before Steve flipped the latch of the door. It began to sway open, allowing Charlie to see hesitant eyes. "If I remember correctly, I've already asked about her," He muttered in response, grabbing hold of the clothes he tried on.

Charlie hated the expression on Steve's face. It made her feel as helpless as he looked. He was holding himself together better than she thought she ever could in his shoes, but his weaknesses still showed through the cracks. Staring him in the eyes, Charlie hoped she appeared to be as sincere as she was. "I'm… I'm doing my best to find her, Rogers," She told him.

Steve looked away, tilting his head in a slight nod. "I appreciate it." And he did. He needed to know what happened to Peggy Carter, how she lived the rest of her life. He may not have been back long, but he could already tell Charlie would be more a help to him than Fury would be. As he left the stall, Charlie stood and they left the dressing rooms, walking down the smooth isle between clothes sections. Faint pop music played in the background, a song neither Steve nor Charlie recognized. For Charlie, it was just low enough to ignore.

A gentleman about Charlie's height with broader shoulders walked past the two of them, nodding his black haired head to them in greeting. Charlie returned the nod with one of her own, not seeing Steve at her side do the same. Her hand brushed against her hip as he passed them, her back going straighter as she felt the grip of her gun through her hoodie's cloth. She kept her hand there as they walked, not daring to glance back until they were further down the isle.

When she did look back, she spotted the man meeting with a female customer, who hugged him with a content, familiar smile on her features. Charlie let out a small sigh of relief and a bit of embarrassment at herself. She wasn't in Marrakesh anymore, or watching over Selvig. She was shopping, a task that would have been deemed normal for anyone else. On the other hand, she was shopping with a legend who was supposed to be dead. Even if he had only been in the country for four days, awake for only two of those, SHIELD couldn't assume no one else knew of his 'return.'

This brought Charlie into another thought process – was she even allowed to be taking Steve out in public? It wasn't a topic that came up when Fury was speaking with her the day before and she had automatically thought it was okay, considering he told her Steve was in _her_ charge. He needed clothes. He couldn't live with nothing but the khakis, combat boots, and SSR shirt SHIELD put him in, and she wasn't about to send agents out for _clothes shopping_. It was humiliating enough for her to do it.

She nodded to herself, choosing to believe the excuse she came up with, before glancing toward the man she was with. She stopped in her tracks when she noticed he wasn't at her side any longer. Turning back, she found Steve standing still, his attention focused in on something else. Charlie walked back toward him and, once at his side, followed his eyesight. Her attention was led to what looked similar to a bomber jacket. It was made of dark brown leather that looked clean and of high quality, with a single strap buttoned across each shoulder and a pocket over the left breast.

Charlie's eyes shifted from the jacket to Steve, whose mind seemed to drift away to another place as he stared at the clothing item. "You like it?" She asked him, slipping her hands into the pockets of her jeans.

Steve gave a subtle nod of his head that she almost would have missed if not watching him as closely as she was. "I had something like it once," He muttered under his breath. It was an answer he didn't mind if she hadn't heard. It linked to memories he didn't want to relive, but all the same, he clung on to them.

Motioning to the jacket with a shrug of her shoulders, she replied, "Then get it."

The words seemed to bring him out of his state of mind, as he turned to look down at Charlie with a start. He glanced down to the clothes in his hands. It wasn't as much as he was sure Charlie had accumulated in her closet over the years, but the tennis shoes, and the several pairs of jeans and shirts to last him two weeks were more than he expected anyone to offer him, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know who the offer came from. It had bugged him all morning. He watched her for a moment, debating over it before asking her, "Whose money are you spending on this?"

Charlie appeared not to be phased as she said, "Mine. So technically it's SHIELD's." The corners of her lips twitched upward with a playful grin, but Steve wasn't having it.

With the shake of his head, he lifted his hands to emphasize the folded shirts laying in them. "You shouldn't be buying my clothes," He told her.

Brows furrowing, Charlie asked, "Is that another forties thing?"

At first, Steve was surprised she sounded as bold as she did bringing up his time. Upon looking at her closer, he began to see a soft touch in her eyes. Was she not trying to insult or poke fun at him, but instead make a point over money? "It's about respect," He answered with a firm tone, trying to show her he was putting his foot down on the matter.

Charlie rolled her eyes and Steve could have sworn he saw her shoulders easing, as though she was becoming more relaxed. "So it's a man thing," She scoffed out, ignoring the chuckle that came from a woman as she passed by the two, obviously overhearing the debate. Charlie did, however, lean forward to mumble to Steve, "SHIELD's going to be reimbursing me later, so stop worrying about it. You'll need a jacket. Get it."

Steve continued to look at her before shaking his head one more time and walking past her. He could hear her huffing in frustration before turning to follow him, and he felt the smile pull at his lips at his victory. He marched along the isle and it didn't take long to see the check-out counters near the doors. Feeling a hand push into the right side of his chest, he hesitated in his walk and looked down. Charlie stared up at him from his side, her brows raised in a dull expectancy. His own brows furrowed, until he noticed her wiggling her fingers. A plastic card shifted in between them, silver and shining under the fluorescent lighting.

He took hold of the card and she let go of it, crossing her arms over her chest. "If they ask you to sign, just put down Charlene Strauss," She informed him with a tone more gentle than what he'd heard from her before.

Gazing down at the card, which was engraved with _Charlene L Strauss_ underneath a series of numbers, Steve turned his eyes back toward Charlie. He tried to understand what she was doing by giving him her card, when it clicked far more sudden than he thought it would. She was letting him pay for his own purchase. Granted, it was still her money and her card, but he would not be standing at a counter with a _woman_ paying for him. He almost felt embarrassed by the fact she knew this had crossed his mind, realizing how insulting it could have sounded, but the look on Charlie's face told him she didn't mind. Maybe she even understood.

He nodded, looking at her in a newer light, before finishing his walk to the registers. He piled his clothes onto the nearest empty counter top and the woman behind the register almost dropped her jaw. He was buying an entire wardrobe, after all. Her eyes darted up to Steve, lingering on the SSR shirt he was wearing, before smiling across the counter at him and mumbling a small hello. He smiled at her in greeting as she began to scan the clothes in front of her.

He watched as the number on the register's screen went higher and higher, the ball in the pit of his stomach growing with it. Then and there, he decided he would pay Charlie back, be it with helping in chores or earning some money however SHIELD would let him. This made him hesitate. It was obvious enough SHIELD wanted to keep tabs on him, but he wasn't sure how long that would last. Did they need him for something? He hoped he was paid for whatever it was – not to be vain, but to be able to afford his own things. Financial stability. Things weren't cheap. In fact, they were incredibly more expensive than he remembered. His shoes alone were forty dollars!

"Scan your card, please," The woman spoke as she bagged his items, causing Steve to blink his way back to reality once more by the sound of someone speaking to him.

Shaking his head at himself, he looked down at the instrument in front of him. It was squared off, with a small screen in the middle and a slit running across the top of it. A part of him panicked, until he saw the informational drawing across the plastic surface. He flipped the card around in his hands, holding it up near what he assumed was a scanner of sorts to compare the images. Glancing up, he gave an embarrassed smile when he saw the woman watching him with an odd expression. "My, erm… Wife's," He commented, shaking the card for a bit of emphasis.

The employee nodded her head but the look on her face told him she was simply choosing not to question his confusion. Flipping the card over once more to match the image over the slit, Steve dragged the card through it. Seconds later, the screen changed to a blank line, with _Name_ written over it. Just as Charlie had instructed him, he wrote in her name and hit the _okay_ button he noticed in the corner. The woman pressed a few buttons on her register before a receipt was printed out. She tore it out of the machine, handing one to Steve as she smiled, "Have a nice day, Sir."

Steve nodded to her, grabbing the two large shopping bags together in one hand. Turning, he headed to the doors where he saw Charlie already waiting for him, her hands clasped together behind her back as she was leaned against the wall. Once he reached her, she looked up toward him as he handed her card back to her. She took it, saying as she did so, "Hopefully SHIELD will get you your own card soon." He nodded, hoping just as she much as she was that he would get his own.

The two walked out of the store, Steve holding the door open for another woman and Charlie on the way out. Outside the store, they headed across the parking lot toward Charlie's sedan. His eyes were glued to the car as they approached it, when something rough smacked him in the face. He stopped walking to catch the plastic shopping bag, eying it in confusion. He looked up, glancing across the top of the car to Charlie, who was walking to the driver's door as though she hadn't just thrown a bag in his face. He turned his head back down and opened the bag, peering inside it. With a surprise, Steve pulled out a brown leather jacket.

As Charlie climbed into the car, slamming the door closed behind her, it all started to fit together in Steve's mind. She didn't give him her card so he could feel somewhat independent. That may have been part of the reason or simply a bonus, but it wasn't the sole reason for it. No, Charlie had given him her card just to occupy him with the card slot at the register. Thinking it over, Steve realized that the amount of time it took to purchase all of his clothes and figure out how to work her card was more than enough time for her to slip to the back of the store, grab the jacket, and purchase it without him even suspecting anything. She wasn't at his side at the register, and that had nothing to do with giving him some space.

He dropped the jacket back into the bag, tossing all of his bags into the back seat of the car before getting in as well. In the passenger's seat, Steve looked over at Charlie with a blank look across his face. He wasn't sure if he wanted to be annoyed or amused; frustrated or flattered. She ignored him as she cranked the car and adjusted her rear view mirror. Turning her torso and laying a hand on the back of Steve's seat so she could back out of the parking space, Charlie made eye contact with the man.

"You shouldn't have done that," He said, watching as her eyes moved away from him to the back window of the car.

Her answer was quick and simple. "If you're not going to get what you need to prepare for the weather, I am," She told him as she backed the car out of the space.

Steve looked to his lap where his hands were interlinked together. No longer could he hold it. A smile pulled at his lips again and he let himself go with it, his chest vibrating as he chuckled. With a small shake of his head, he glanced out the window, mumbling, "You're a stubborn woman, Ma'am."

Putting the car in drive, Charlie turned the wheel around as she glanced to Steve from the side of her eye, smirking all the while. "Job requirement, Rogers."

* * *

As of now, this chapter is the last _complete_ chapter I have written. The next is almost finished, but I wanted to give a heads up that I may not be updating as frequently after today. Thank you guys for reading (and special thanks to those who've reviewed!) I really appreciate it.


	8. Eight

Wow! That boost of reviews and alerts was huge encouragement. Thank you, guys!

* * *

_A Little Birdie's Grand Entrance_

Steve Rogers had been back in the world for two and a half days. In those near-three days, he had one consistency and only one. Charlie.

He didn't know her very well, but that didn't change the fact that she was becoming his support system. They had eaten and wandered through New York City after shopping for clothes, living out the rest of the day uneventfully. Steve tried prolonging it as much as he could. In truth, he did not want to come back to the apartment. The silence and isolation from other people left him to his own thoughts. About Peggy, Howard, the war. Everything crossed his mind, even Schmidt a few times. There was nothing he could do to change his circumstances but he felt horrible and empty all the same. Without a distraction, he wasn't sure he could handle his life. It didn't help that the appliances in the kitchen were still a mystery to him.

_That_ was the real problem at the moment.

He let out a long sigh as he stared across the kitchen floor at the counter of appliances. Next to the refrigerator (which looked odd in its own right) were three box shaped gadgets. Steve had prided himself on realizing the slender one standing straight up was supposed to be a coffer maker – how to use it, he wasn't sure. There were several buttons and he couldn't find anywhere to place anything inside the machine. It was just a smooth plastic surface with a container for water attached to its side, and a dispenser sitting above a small platform.

The other item he recognized was the toaster. The toaster had become his best friend in that apartment. It was nice to see at least _something_ was still similar enough to operate. The problem he had was a lack of bread. Charlie hadn't been joking when she said she thought SHIELD left him maybe with a day's worth of food. But the toaster sat there in the open, waiting patiently to be used.

The third and final machine was the one he was having a bit of trouble with. It was more rectangular than squared, even more so than the toaster, and there were more buttons on that thing than on the 'coffee maker.' A small door was attached to the front of it, showing the inside of the box where a circular platform was sitting. A screen was in the right-hand corner of it, and it even showed the time. He didn't feel like mashing buttons to figure it all out.

Steve sighed again. He rubbed his chin in thought, staring down the object with an intensity he hadn't had since World War II. A part of him told him to just ask Charlie when she arrived, but the last thing he wanted to do was look to her for even more guidance. She was doing enough for him.

Glancing to the stove at his left, he could feel his resolve weakening. He was hungry. Lunch and dinner since he'd gotten back were both spent with Charlie, out in public, where she could teach him more about the 'modern' world. He hated calling this place 'modern.' To him it was weird and, looking to the mysterious box, he thought it was a little creepy. Up until that morning, breakfast had been ignored. Granted, the first day he returned, it was around lunch time, but yesterday's breakfast had been skipped and Steve was going to see to it that that didn't become a reoccurring thing.

The same part of his mind that urged him to ask Charlie got louder the hungrier he began to feel. He groaned, letting his head fall backward until it landed against the overhead cabinets behind him. His eyes moved downward to the mysterious box and he took note of the time. Charlie would be knocking at the door soon, if she was anything like he thought she was when it came to schedules.

How helpless was he? Scoffing, he turned his head upward to frown at the ceiling. He couldn't even make breakfast. Sure, he had just been back for two and a half days, but he _couldn't_ _even make breakfast_. And he was hungry, had he mentioned that yet? Great, he was losing his mind now.

The knock at his front door was music to his ears.

Charlie sighed, running a hand across the back of her neck. Her hair had been pulled back in a low ponytail to let the breeze in the city brush against her neck and ears. She fiddled with the bottom of her striped polo as she climbed out of the open elevator, being greeted by an apartment floor identical to her own. She grumbled temperamental nonsense under her breath as she walked down the hall.

Her morning hadn't gone as usual, and she liked her personal life to stay usual. She had enough surprises at work. By that logic, that morning was horrible.

She didn't wake earlier than her alarm this time, to which she assumed was due to staying out late with Steve. She hadn't said anything to him at the time, and she still wouldn't, but something about going back to the apartment made Steve tense. He didn't like his 'home,' and she couldn't blame him in the slightest. So, she made no protests the previous night when Steve wandered the streets. The lights and sounds of the city seemed to have a better effect on him than seeing the apartment complex did.

Because she woke late, she had skipped her orange juice and peach. She skipped stretching and she forgot to bring her gun, but there was no way in _hell_ she was going back down to that floor, because the worst of her morning was when she ran into Miss Patsy. The old woman had locked in her sights on Charlie that morning. _God, she could have been one hell of a SHIELD agent,_ she thought to herself as her mind went back to the ten minute conversation Miss Patsy had with her about the new neighbor upstairs. Like Charlie needed to hear more about Steve Rogers.

Charlie rubbed her forehead, trying to push away the oncoming headache, and knocked on Steve's door.

Just like the prior morning, the door opened within seconds after the first rap on the door. He had been waiting for her again, she realized. Did he really hate the apartment that much? She nodded her head up at him, examining his jeans and navy colored shirt. At least he was using that wardrobe she'd gotten him. "Morning, Rogers," Charlie forced herself to say. She wasn't in the best of moods, and without a doubt, she did not feel like using her vocal chords, but there was something that pushed her to talk. Maybe she thought he needed to hear a voice every now and then, she wasn't sure.

Steve looked up to her face after taking note of the striped polo and tan Bermuda shorts. He nodded to her, unable to stop his frown or reply in the way he wanted to. There was one thing on his mind, and he had been debating all morning over whether or not to bring it up. Charlie's brows furrowed when she noticed his steely gaze, but he beat her to the punch. "I need your help with something," He told her.

Charlie almost snorted, but she made sure to keep it deep down inside. She was just ill and grumpy, it had nothing to do with what she thought to be an obvious statement. "What is it?" She asked him, not going to great lengths to hide her tired voice.

He glanced away for a moment and Charlie felt herself perking up. He was being bashful again. With a tight grip around the doorknob, Steve looked back toward her and jerked his head to the inside of his apartment. Hesitating for just a moment, Charlie walked into the apartment. Steve shut the door with haste, turning around to face her. "I… Don't know how to use some of the things in the kitchen."

A few tense seconds passed as Charlie stared up at him. He began to shift out of the embarrassment, regretting the decision to tell her. Her expression was so blank, he wasn't sure if she was trying not to laugh at him or trying to think of ways to get out of helping him. Another moment went by before he sighed, about to speak up. This time it was Charlie to beat him. "I'm sorry, I'm not the best morning person right now," She grumbled, blinking as she shook her head, "Show me what you need some help with."

Steve sent her a concerned look, now unsure if he should have brought it up just in case she hurt herself over it. She looked like she'd been up all night. Regardless, he nodded and led the woman into the kitchen where he leaned up against his old spot at the counters and waved his hand toward the coffee maker and the instrument he still hadn't figured out. Charlie's eyes remained on the appliance as she reached out and grabbed his arm. He looked toward her in surprise, letting her drag him across the kitchen.

"This is going to be hands-on, pal," She grumbled under her breath as she slapped a hand on the top of the coffee maker, "Let's start with the coffee. I hope to God you have a lot of sugar."

. . .

He didn't.

Steve had almost nothing, in fact. Charlie was shocked to find one box of pop-tarts in an overhead cabinet, a small box of hot chocolate cups for the Keurig brewer, and two already made sandwiches wrapped together in the refrigerator. The freezer would have been empty if not for a single ice tray. All in all, Steve's kitchen looked like it had been picked clean by starving scavengers.

There was no coffee, no orange juice, and the smell of pop-tarts was _not_ the smell of peaches, which put Charlie in a dangerous mood. If it weren't for her own troubles that morning, she would have taken Steve straight to the store for a grocery run, but she couldn't see either of them making it out alive with her the way she was. No, Charlie needed coffee, and she needed it fast.

Steve opted to wait by the entrance when she took them to the SHIELD headquarters. He didn't want to become acquainted with the layout of the building just yet. With his hands in his pockets and his leather jacket resting over his shoulders (Charlie would have been smug if she were in the mood to be), he sat into a chair by the door and tried ignoring the curious looks he was getting.

To make up for her lack of morning exercise, Charlie decided to run the stairs and jog to the cafeteria. She pushed open the doors to her destination and took in a deep breath, already able to smell the coffee. She walked past the circular table at her right, nodding to the agent who sat there. Opening an overhead cabinet (_where they actually have items,_ she thought to herself), she snatched a container from the shelves and poured it as full as she could of coffee.

Footsteps echoed on the tile before halting next to her. She didn't bother looking as she reached for the sugar bowl. "Shouldn't you be with Mister Rogers, Charlie?" A familiar voice asked from her side. It was a hesitant voice, and a little on the worried side.

Charlie dumped four spoonfuls of sugar into her coffee, bumping it up from her usual two, and began to stir it into her coffee. She glanced up and spotted a tan skinned hand reaching for the coffee pot, pouring into a mug not her own. Rolling her eyes, she brought her cup to her lips and took a small test sip. She nodded her head in approval at her work before grabbing the sugar bowl and passing it along to her left, where one of the agent's hands grabbed it from her. "He's waiting at the entrance. SHIELD hasn't exactly made the best impression," She explained, slapping a lid onto the top of her cup.

The agent beside her chuckled as he went for a creamer as well. "Best he doesn't meet Coulson just yet, then," He mumbled to her as he stirred his own preferences into his coffee. "He's pretty jealous about you getting to work with Mister Rogers, you know."

With a small snort of amusement, Charlie glanced toward him from the side of her eye. "Tell him to take it up with Fury," She replied as she moved onto a box of doughnuts someone had brought in. The agents tried as hard as they could not to eat SHIELD food. "See you around, Sitwell," She added before grabbing a doughnut from the box and shoving it into her mouth. It hung there, allowing her to wrap a second one in a napkin.

Charlie nodded to the balding agent at her side, before heading for the doors. "Have a good day!" Sitwell exclaimed after her. She rose a hand into the air and gave half a wave in response before kicking the door open and leaving the cafeteria. She walked down the hall at a slow pace, hoping to finish her doughnut and half her coffee before getting back to Steve. Then maybe she'd be in a better mood for the day.

She had almost reached the elevator when she began to pass the security room. The doors were wide open, causing her to glance in as she walked. The long metal table against the far wall in the room was full of computer screens, each showing security camera footage from different parts of the building. A man stood in front of it, tapping away at the main computer. She looked back ahead, when suddenly she jerked to a stop just past the security room doors. The open security room doors.

Those doors were to remain shut.

Turning on her heel, she rushed back to the doorway to look inside again. Just from the back of the man, where she could make a gray suit, she could see he wasn't a SHIELD agent. She squinted, the back of the head looking familiar. Within seconds it came to her, and Charlie's shoulders dropped when she realized who it was. A small groan, mixed with a frustrated growl, emitted from her throat as she marched into the room. "Stark!" Her bark echoed in the room, causing the man to jump and spin on his heel.

Even when he was surprised, Tony Stark's expression remained cool and collected. He hadn't changed since Charlie last saw him – perhaps his goatee was a bit more trimmed, but that was about it. His hair, black and shaggy in nature, was slicked back. Brown almond eyes peered through dark red shades and over a long nose. Charlie had to resist rolling her eyes at the sunglasses. He wore them everywhere. "Strauss!" He barked back in the same tone.

Approaching Tony's side, Charlie gave him a dull look. He was the last person she was wanting to deal with that _week_, let alone that day. "You can't be here, Stark," She reprimanded.

There was a slight scoff tugging at Tony's expression as he waved off her comment. Pointing a finger toward her, he replied, "See, that's where you're wrong. I _can_ be here. I _shouldn't_, but I can." He shot her a quick grin, as he added, "That's the power of being me."

"You want to tell me why you're here before I snap that finger in half?" She asked through a sigh.

Tony nodded his head from one side to the other, ignoring the threat Charlie was sure she would see to. Motioning to the screens with one hand while he slipped the other into his suit pocket, Tony made sure the woman could see his amusement. "Well I heard from a little bird about a female agent _jumping_ Captain America and I had to see it for myself to believe it," He explained, tilting his head downward to give Charlie a clear view of his eyes, smirking as he did so.

She was going to kill Clark.

"You heard that from a bird, did you?" She asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Pursing his lips in mock thought, Tony nodded as he shoved his other hand into his pockets. "An annoying bird that talks too much, if you ask me," He commented with a casual tone.

A brow quirked as Charlie leaned forward, commenting, "Two peas in a pod, then?"

Tony's lips formed an oh, and he began to shake his head. He 'tsk'ed at the woman, laying a hand over his chest. "That stung a little bit, Strauss," He pouted before stepping closer to her. Charlie could smell his cologne (well, more than she could before) and it was intoxicating, in its own weird way. "You know, I don't think you should be so mean to me," He whispered to her in a matter-of-fact way.

"Oh, I shouldn't?" She questioned. This would be good.

Chuckling, Tony nodded, showing her a thin-lipped grin. "You shouldn't," He said before holding up a flash drive. She glanced toward it and he waved it back and forth, saying, "Because I have this. And I can think of a lot of people who would like to see it."

Charlie watched him for a moment longer. She wanted to believe that Tony would respect her privacy and not flaunt an embarrassing piece of footage around, but she knew Tony. He was _itching_ to send that video to everyone he knew. A glare crossed her features as she looked Tony in the eye. "I will shoot you," She stated. Apparently her coffee hadn't kicked in as much as she thought.

Tony frowned. He slipped the flash drive further into the palm of his hand so that it disappeared from Charlie's sight. "That doesn't sound nice," He said in a tone that sounded like a teacher telling their student they were wrong.

The glare on Charlie's face deepened as she held out her palm. "Hand it over," She growled. The two stared one another down for several seconds. Charlie was beginning to worry, when Tony dropped the flash drive into her hand. She nodded in satisfaction, turning away to walk out the doors. "Thank you for your cooperation."

Scoffing, Tony began a genuine pout. Charlie had just taken a new toy from him and he was more than excited about having it. Watching her leave, he muttered, "Now you sound like Coulson." Charlie ignored it, shaking her head at his antics as she began to leave the room with her coffee and the spare doughnut she'd gotten for Steve. She stopped at the doorway when an idea struck her.

It was no secret at SHIELD that Tony Stark knew just how to push her buttons. Many times, she found herself itching to punch him in the face. All the same, there was something mutual between them that stopped her from ringing his neck. He wasn't a _bad_ guy, just an arrogant ass. That opinion of him alone told Charlie she tried giving him the benefit of the doubt. She had been looking for someone who would be willing to help her keep this from SHIELD, and Tony Stark was the perfect man for the job. Charlie turned back to face Stark, who was already focusing in on the security cameras as though he hadn't just given up a new toy. "Stark… Er, Tony."

Tony turned, eyes skimming over Charlie in confusion. "Yes, darling?" He asked with a dull voice, though he rose what he believed to be a seductive brow.

"Can you… Do a search for me?" Charlie glanced away, shrugging as she mumbled, "Unofficial SHIELD business."

The smirk on Tony's face almost made her regret bringing it up in the first place, but she wasn't doing this for her. "Who is it? An old lover?" Tony gripped at his chest again, shaking his head as he feigned a hurt expression, "Don't tell me it's an old lover, Charlie, you know he doesn't compare to me."

With the roll of her eyes, Charlie leaned against the side of the doorway. "It's Peggy Carter. Rogers knew her," She replied.

Tony's eyes narrowed across the room at her. He had heard she was in charge of Steve Rogers for the time being, but he thought it was just rumors after she jumped him. What she was saying implied otherwise. A bit of concern rose in the back of his mind for the agent when he came to the conclusion she was pushing her limits with her assignment. More often than not, that sort of thing backfired. "Does Fury know about this escapade?" He asked her, already knowing the answer. As he thought, Charlie shook her head. He was quiet for another few seconds before replying. "Alright, I'll get Pepper to look into it."

Charlie leaned off the doorway, nodding her head in a grateful manner. "I appreciate it."

Lifting his hands into the air, Tony tilted his torso backward as he smirked at her. "Of course you do."

. . .

Steve pushed a cart down a shopping isle, eyes scanning over the shelves at his right. Everything had been new to him so far. He hadn't thought much of it before he and Charlie walked into the grocery store, but even foods had changed. There were brands of soft drinks he'd never heard of, junk foods he wouldn't have thought of creating, everything flavored anything. They had an entire isle dedicated to Mexican food, and half the products he did recognize had duplicates with their labels in Spanish!

The living legend tried to maintain an outer attitude of normalcy. He was tired of other civilians eying him. They didn't know who he was, but they knew something was different. They knew he was… Weird. He hadn't felt this self-conscious in a long time.

Looking to the woman beside him, he loosened his posture for the fifth time in order to match hers. Charlie was good. She walked with her chin parallel to the ground, her shoulders eased back and her hands relaxed at her side, but her eyes told him a different story. She was just as much on guard as always, scanning every person in a ten foot radius of them. Her finger twitched at the hip she kept her gun at every time someone got too close. No one else could tell, but for Steve, it was obvious. It was a posture he himself had.

Charlie, feeling eyes on her, glanced toward Steve. The movement brought him back to reality and with a small startle, he gave her a bashful smile and looked back to his cart. It was already containing a selection of breakfast foods, the essentials (milk, bread, eggs, sugar), various other ingredients of which Steve wasn't sure about what they would create and some quick meals Charlie thought he might enjoy. Seeing it all brought a dry chuckle from Steve's throat.

"I don't recognize most of this," He admitted to his temporary companion. Hands clasped together, he rested his arms on the bar of the cart and pushed with his elbows.

With little surprise to Steve, Charlie reacted with the utmost normalcy. "No surprise there," She replied. She nodded her head in understanding, slipping her restless hands into the pockets of her shorts.

Steve eyed her as she shot her hand out toward the shelf. Her fingers roamed over a few boxes of macaroni and cheese before she picked one out of the bunch and turned around, holding it up for him to view. He looked at the box, which showed a picture of the alphabet, and rose a brow in Charlie's direction. "Alphabet macaroni? They're educational," She suggested. His brow lowered as he returned her amused stare with his dull one. The corner of her lips turned upward and she shook her head. "No?" Giving a sigh, she placed it back on the shelf and instead put a regular box of the lunch food into the cart.

As they neared the end of the isle, Steve struck up idle conversation. He needed to keep his mind busy. He didn't _want_ himself to get lost in his thoughts, especially not in public. "So is grocery shopping a part of SHIELD work?" He asked in a low voice.

Charlie snorted. "It is when someone wakes up out of the ice after seventy years," She remarked, her tone betraying the extent of SHIELD's discovery.

Looking down at her, Steve asked, "So this happens often?"

She glanced up at him and smirked when she saw the subtle hint of amusement in his own eyes. "I'm glad it _doesn't_. We'd be blowing money on staged rooms every week," She murmured, turning her gaze ahead of her as they turned a corner.

A small, kind of bitter chuckle shook Steve's shoulders. He looked down at his hands, nodding as he commented, "That wasn't the greatest idea."

Charlie lifted her hand up for emphasis. In a quick tone, she said, "Wasn't mine. Just…" She glanced toward Steve and the two of them had small grins as she murmured, "Just putting that out there."

The two continued through the store in silence. Steve's cart grew fuller the longer they shopped and soon enough, he had everything he would need to last him a few weeks. Time and a comfortable atmosphere had passed over the two They spent more time than they thought they would have wandering the store, when Charlie decided to lead Steve to the other side of the building, where there was a small music selection and a few isles of basic electronics – alarm clocks, phones, radios. They were things that held a familiar basis for Steve, with only a few changes to function and appearance. She decided they would be the best way to ease Steve into a world running on technology.

Going through the electronics went smoother than Charlie anticipated. Steve was interested, as much as he could be. He had only been back for three days. Technology was nerve-wrecking and it was always changing, that much he had noticed. He still wasn't so sure he wanted to become familiar with technology, but he knew basic knowledge would be necessary. So, he was eager to listen to what Charlie had to show him, taking note of the functions and varieties of these new inventions.

It wasn't long before they reached the music section. Charlie took her time through there, looking through the CDs with a personal interest. Brows furrowing, Steve looked down at the items on the shelf with an inquisitive expression. Hand raising toward one of them, he glanced toward Charlie, who was reading the back of one of the objects. "What are these?" He asked, leaning toward her to not be heard by the others around them.

Charlie blinked a few times as she realized what he was asking her, and she shook her head at what she believed to be her own stupidity. They had just finished talking about radios and the functions of them, but it slipped her mind to mention what they played. "CDs," She began as she waved her hand toward the several along the shelves in front of her. She gave a small shrug of her shoulders as she muttered, "Modern-day records. What the radios play."

Steve nodded. "So this is music," He replied, his tone a mix of a question and a comment.

With a small snort, Charlie placed the CD in her hands back on the shelf and stepped away from it. "Though we use the term loosely." As she turned to look at the shelf behind them, she could hear Steve fiddling with some of the CDs.

From over her shoulder, he asked her, "Who is Justin Bieber?"

"_Very_ loosely," Charlie muttered, shoving her hands into the pockets of her shorts. She looked around at her surroundings, before spotting an older section of music. Giving a light tap to Steve's arm, she pointed to that section when he looked toward her. "Let's start with that decade," She mused under her breath as they walked over to a shelf of classic music.

Charlie stood at the side, giving Steve some space as he looked at what had changed with music. She was quiet, there if he had any questions, but otherwise a fly on the wall. A few moments passed as Steve look everything over. There was a bit of familiarity, but it was still more different than what he remembered. What he remembered was a lot of classy style. A sort of elegance. What he was looking at was much more… Laid back.

His eyes landed on a particular CD he recognized. Lifting it into the air, he turned and spotted Charlie leaning against the shopping cart. "I saw his pictures," Steve commented, "At the diner."

He held it out for her to examine, but it was not necessary. The smooth skinned, smirking face of Presley was easily recognizable. She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. "He's the King. Made a big impression," She replied. Glancing to the time on her watch, she looked back to Steve with a new expression. "I don't know about you, but I think it's time we headed out of here."

Giving a small nod, Steve placed the CD back in its place and swapped positions with Charlie. He took hold of his cart and pushed it out of the isle. The cash registers were in plain sight and as they walked toward him, Steve felt a gnawing at the pit of his stomach. He began to rub his hands together, feeling more restless than before. It was the middle of the day – was Charlie supposed to stay with him until night, when they went their separate ways, or would she go back to her own apartment when they arrived at the complex? She was going to teach him how to work the appliances, right? But after that… He almost felt silly with his worries, but he hated that apartment. He needed social interaction at the moment, not solace.

Charlie glanced toward him, noting the unease he was feeling. It was lost on her, until she realized they were going back home. Was that really it? She hesitated for a moment, before saying to him, "How about I play some Elvis for you back at the apartment while we make lunch?"

He looked toward her in a bit of surprise, and she noticed the look in his eyes relax. So it was the apartment. Maybe he would get used to it in time, but as of now, he was still in the first stages of trying to handle this change, wasn't he? "The Beatles, too?" He asked her, bringing her out of her thoughts.

She began to grin. Nodding, she told him, "Yeah, them too. And Johnny Cash! Those are three names you need to know." She continued to brief him on the more famous names in music as they checked out their items at the register, ignoring the odd looks from the cashier.

Without realizing it, they stayed in Steve's apartment until past midnight, listening to Elvis and cleaning the mess made in the kitchen. Maybe it was the exhaustion from a long day of triviality or maybe it was the faint aroma of coffee and a badly burnt lasagna still lingering in the kitchen, but when Charlie left for the night, Steve didn't hate the apartment as much anymore.


	9. Nine

Beware of time skips – there be lots of 'em here. (Two days off schedule. That's not _too_ bad, is it?)

* * *

_Just My Luck_

There was a still silence in Charlie's apartment as she rolled around underneath her covers, trying to find a comfortable spot in the slope of her mattress.

It was Saturday.

Two days had passed since her last outing with Steve. Since then, they had worked on the gadgets in his apartment. Even Charlie was unsure of how to work the complex television remote (they had managed to turn it on but upon trying to change channels, the television went blank and Charlie decided to put it off for another day.) She also worked with him in the kitchen. She had an extensive memory involving the recipes of the dishes her parents used to cook – her ability to cook them was another story. Steve was a natural, though. Eventually it came down to Charlie spouting off the instructions and Steve executing them.

But now it was Saturday. It was the first weekend Charlie had been back in the country from Marrakesh, and the first weekend Steve had been back from_…_ Well, from a comatose state. Clark wanted to celebrate this. He had called Charlie the night before asking about her schedule, before convincing her to meet him at a bar Saturday night.

Charlie winced when the ringing of her cellphone cut through the air and made her jump. With a long sigh, she reached out and grabbed the small flip phone off the end table. The glare of the display screen shone in the dark room before her eyes grew accustomed to the light. The name '_James Fuller_' blinked in thin, black letters, and Charlie felt her nose wrinkle in distaste. Answering the call, she didn't bother to hide the sleep in her voice. "What do you want?"

James Fuller was a fellow SHIELD agent, and had entered the organization not long after Charlie and Clark. He was enthusiastic and he was determined. And he annoyed Charlie to no end. She loved her job as much as he did, but Charlie had a tendency to bend the rules when she doubted the intention and severity of them. Fuller moved without asking questions and he never bent in the slightest. This caused friction.

Fuller gave a tight, almost bitter chuckle over the phone. "Good morning to you, too, Agent Strauss," He began, the sound of footsteps echoing in the background of his call. "The director's giving you free weekends."

Picking her head up out of the mound of blankets on her bed, Charlie's brows furrowed in concentration. She propped herself up with her elbows, pressing the phone closer to her ear. "Since when?"

She could hear Fuller shuffling about as he answered, "Since six o'clock this morning." It was already six? Charlie scowled, holding the phone away from her ear to look at the time display. No, it _wasn't_ six – it was six-thirty. She was an hour and a half behind schedule. As she grumbled incoherent trivialities to herself, she could hear Fuller on the other end. "I'm covering you for the weekend. Director's orders."

With a long sigh, Charlie rolled onto her back. "Alright, fine. Don't be an ass, though. He's already cautious about SHIELD. And only help him out of he asks for it. Let him get there on his own otherwise," She warned him in a grumpy tone, pushing her hair out of her face.

"Are you his watch or his mother?" Fuller asked with a slight snort. When she refused to acknowledge the comment, he chuckled. "Spend your weekend wisely, Agent Strauss," He said before hanging up. A loud groan broke from Charlie's throat as she tossed her phone onto the floor, trying to hide back underneath her covers. With a day off, she was intent on sleeping in.

. . .

Steve sighed, casting a long glance in the direction of his clock. It was past seven, and Charlie was nowhere to be found. She had been late before, but only by a few minutes. Never had she taken this long. It could have been because it was a weekend, but Steve doubted it.

He gave a second sigh before running a hand through his hair in a mix of frustration and mild concern. She was a grown woman and she could take care of herself. The impact of her jumping on his back told him that much. Not only was she capable of fending for herself, they weren't even friends. They were on their way there, yes, but everything and everyone in this world was foreign to Steve, no matter what state or country or history was there that tied them together. He was not a part of them. Not yet. Maybe even never. And Charlie was his bodyguard. She was protecting him from himself more than anything.

Couldn't she have just arrived on time and kept things simple? Now he was antsy over her absence. And for all he knew, she was hurt. That was it – if she wasn't there within the next five minutes, he was going looking for her. Even if he didn't know her apartment number. He'd knock on every door if it came down to it.

There was a sharp rap at the door, and Steve sprung out of the recliner he'd forced himself to sit still in. He felt silly for lunging toward the door and yanking it open, and even more so when he saw an unfamiliar face standing there.

His uniform was black and plain, and neatly tailored. He was shorter than Steve and, in Steve's opinion, Charlie as well, but his shoulders were broad and his arms thick. His black hair was in a short trim, and his deep-set eyes were a dark brown. With hands clasped in front of him, he smiled Steve's way. He held out a clean-cut hand to shake. "Mister Rogers, pleasure meeting you. I'm James Fuller, SHIELD agent."

Steve was quiet for a few seconds, his mind trying to process what was happening. He could make out the earpiece the agent wore, as well as the indention of a gun in his suit. He was obvious. "_…_Yeah, nice meeting you," He replied, shaking Fuller's hand, "Where's_…_?"

Nodding in understanding, Fuller reunited his hands together as he explained, "Agent Strauss has been given the weekend off. I'm her replacement."

Replacement. Steve got the feeling that was a dramatic overstatement.

. . .

Charlie stared up at the door at the top of the steps before taking a moment to look around. A potted plant, wilting and darkening, sat on the railing to the left and a dark green welcome mat was placed on the concrete floor. The house was narrow, two stories, and in the middle of many similar houses lining the street. It was made of deep red brick, and the windows were covered on the inside by white lace curtains. Charlie could see the fridge peering through the right window, and a small TV set through the left. A bike rested against the steps in front of her, and a screen door was shut in place in front of the door.

Lifting her hand, Charlie reached forward and pushed her thumb against the round doorbell. She could hear the faint ding, followed by loud footsteps running against tiled floor. The wooden door was swung open, and a little boy stood there in anticipation.

He had shaggy golden hair that matched Charlie's, but his eyes, big and almond in shape, were a vibrant brown. His skin was tanned and freckled. In brown cargo shorts and a green hooded jacket zipped up, he stood tall for a twelve year old_…_ Or was he thirteen now? Charlie could never remember. But he smiled when he saw her and pushed the door wider open. "Charlie!"

She nodded at him, returning his smile with her own grin. "Zach! Hey, kid. What have you been up to?" She asked him, glancing through the screen door over the boy's shoulder.

His smile grew larger, and Charlie was surprised it was possible. "I got on the team," He told her in a rushed, excited tone. His fingers curled into fists at his side as he tried to resist bouncing in his spot.

Charlie felt a laugh push from her throat as she thought about the countless basketball practice sessions he had told her about over the phone. He deserved that spot on the team more than anyone, she was sure. "Nice. Maybe I'll take you to the gym one day, we'll play together," She commented, raising a brow toward him as she smirked.

Zach's eyes shone with a happiness that made Charlie herself excited. "Can we do it today?"

She chuckled once more and shrugged. "Depends," Nodding over his head, she asked, "Where's your mom?"

Zach rose his hand and gripped the handle to the screen door. Opening it, he pushed it outward and Charlie caught it before it swayed back to a close. "In the living room," He replied, stepping to the side to let Charlie walk in. He leaned his body forward to shut both doors before turning to follow his aunt.

The kitchen was small and comfortable, to the right of the front door. The white tiles had pink bows painted in the corners and the walls were covered in pink striped wallpaper. White marble counters were placed between a silver refrigerator and a matching stove. A microwave sat next to the fridge, and a small pink mat was in front of the stove. A worn-out, white wooden table was to the left of the front door.

From her place at the entrance, Charlie could already peer into the living room, where a small TV sat in front of a low dark brown coffee table and a white loveseat, stained in various items from over the years. A woman stood next to the loveseat, prepping herself in the full-body mirror hanging on the wall.

Rachel was Charlie's sister-in-law, and Zachary's mother. Charlie had known her for many years, her brother having met Rachel during middle school. They were hooked onto one another the second they met and remained together through the years. She was shorter than Charlie, and her petite frame made her appear even shorter. Her skin was fair and her light brown hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. She was donned in office apparel, and fiddling with her hair and jewelry. Charlie cleared her throat. The woman turned upon hearing it, and her brown eyes widened in recognition. "Charlie! What are you doing here?" She asked as she finished putting in pearl earrings.

Charlie snorted a bit, her shoulders shaking. "Good to see you too," She greeted.

Rachel huffed, lowering her hands to her side. She pulled at her pencil skirt and sent Charlie an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for that to sound_…_" Shaking her head, she changed the subject with, "I just thought you were working?"

With a shrug, Charlie explained, "I got the weekend off so I thought I'd stop by. How are things?" She eyed the house, noting it never seemed to change.

"As good as they could be," Rachel began with a soft smile and a nod, "I was just about to go for a job interview."

The opportunity hit Charlie and she grinned, sharing a glance with Zach, who was beginning to catch on. He smiled, looking between the two women as Charlie asked, "Why don't I take Zach to the gym?"

She was hesitant. She glanced from her sister-in-law to her son, clasping her hands together and ringing them. "Are you sure? The babysitter's on her way_…_," She murmured, her high heeled feet shifting on the tan carpeting.

Zach was quick to speak up, shoulders drooping as he exclaimed, "Oh come on! I never get to hang out with Charlie!"

Charlie smirked, nudging the boy's arm as she added, "Yeah, he never gets to hang out with me!" She nodded toward Rachel, her gaze turning softer as she said, "Call the babysitter, tell her not to worry about coming in. And then I get the rest of the day with my nephew."

Giving a loud sigh, Rachel nodded and threw her hands into the air, waving the two off. "Alright, alright! Go. Have fun." Pointing to Charlie, she commented in a sharp tone, "I want him back by nine, though."

Mocking a salute, Charlie nodded as she began stepping backwards toward the door. "Aye, aye," She replied, tugging at Zach's shirt. "Let's go, kid." They left the house, laughing.

. . .

James Fuller was not a suitable replacement for Charlie. At all.

He was quiet and stiff, responding to nothing despite Steve trying hard to start a conversation. He stood by the door watching Steve's every move, following him into each room he entered. Steve grew annoyed with it just minutes after Fuller showed up. He needed someone to talk to, someone whose company helped his situation, even if just a little bit.

James Fuller was not that someone.

Steve watched him for a moment, before shaking his head. He was already tired of waiting for the weekend to be over with. Pressing his hands to his knees, he stood from his position on the couch. Fuller watched him with a blank expression, though a small frown peeked through the cracks. "There a problem, Mister Rogers?" He asked, taking note of Steve's behavior.

Having turned toward the kitchen, Steve glanced to Fuller from the side of his view. He was hesitant, eying the agent by the door. "Not yet," He mumbled before walking into the kitchen. He didn't have to look behind him to see Fuller following him, the man's footsteps echoing on the tile floor. "So you and Miss Strauss work together?" Steve asked, opening the fridge and retrieving the ingredients he wanted.

As Steve dropped them onto the counter and set to work making his lunch, Fuller looked around the kitchen, taking in every detail. "Occasionally," He replied, gripping his hands together in front of him as he placed himself by the doorway.

He said nothing else, and Steve looked to him from over his shoulder. "You're not one for conversation, are you?" He asked, his chest rumbling with a bemused snort as he prepped the bread on his napkin.

Fuller made eye contact with Steve, answering in an even tone, "Not on the job, Mister Rogers."

"Yeah_…_," Steve nodded, a frown tugging at his lips as he dropped his bread together. He tossed what was left of the ingredients back into the fridge as he muttered, "Just my luck." Grabbing his sandwich, he balled up the napkin and threw it into the trash, sending Fuller a hard look as he walked past him into the living room.

. . .

The day had passed quickly, much to Charlie's dismay. Zach was a good player, and his growing height gave Charlie a challenge at the SHIELD gyms. She almost didn't want the day to end. It wasn't often she was able to spend time with her nephew, and she was starting to miss key aspects of his childhood. He was looking more and more like her brother. It scared her a little bit.

Looking toward the boy at her side, she eyed him tossing his ball between his hands as they walked. They had come to the park, where Charlie asked Clark to meet her. With her nephew in her company, going to a bar was out of the question. She reached out her hand and nudged Zach, who looked toward her as though being jerked out of his thoughts. "What's wrong?"

He said nothing as he looked to his basketball. Taking a moment to hold it stationary, in both hands, he mumbled, "What if I'm not that good?"

Charlie scoffed. Not that good. He had Rachel's lack of confidence, that was for sure. If it was his father's, she'd be wishing he would deflate. She shook her head as she stated, "You'll be the best player on the team."

Pushing the basketball against his side, Zach slipped his free hand into the pocket of his jacket. He looked toward his aunt and felt himself smile at how sure she sounded. "You think?" He asked her.

Turning, Charlie looked down at him with a serious expression. "I know it. You play like your dad did when he was a kid," She commented, watching as he gave a childish grin in response. From over his head, she was quick to notice the brunette on the bench several feet away. Nodding toward the man, she told Zach, "I'm going to go talk to Clark for a while, okay? Stay in view."

"Aye aye," He replied, his tone carrying the light mockery of her response earlier that day. The two shared a smirk before he ran past her and toward the blacktop, where a group of boys were already playing basketball.

Charlie walked along the sidewalk for a bit longer, until she reached the bench her partner sat at. He didn't seem to realize she was there, holding two Starbucks cups in his lap. He was clad in bleached jeans and a leather jacket over a red V-neck top – his favorite outfit. Charlie knew it well, hearing Clark talk incessantly about how 'lucky' it was. "Hey," She greeted, sitting down beside him.

He jumped a bit, before looking toward her and smiling. "Hey," He replied, handing her what she assumed was a full Starbucks cup of hot chocolate. He sat straighter, away from the back of the bench, and took note of Zach as he placed his hand over the lid of his own cup. "Wow, is that Zachary? He's getting big," He commented with a surprised, but soft chuckle.

Charlie took a sip of the contents of her new cup and was happy to taste the hot chocolate. It may not have been alcohol at their favorite bar, but it was the next best thing. She nodded toward Clark, smirking a little as she responded, "Kids usually do that. So you got the weekend off, too?"

Watching Zach play for a moment longer, Clark looked to his fellow agent as he leaned back against the bench once more and nodded. "Coulson told me yesterday," He said, sipping his hot chocolate. When a thought came to him, he chuckled and shot Charlie a sort of incredulous glance. "When was our last day off, two months ago?"

Still with her smirk, she interlinked her arms over her chest before waving toward him. "If you don't count the free hour we had before we left for Marrakesh," She remarked, looking around the park. It was a nice area. Nothing huge like Central Park, but it was cozy and low-profile. "How are things at work anyway?"

Clark shrugged, resting his cup on his knee. "I wouldn't know anything about the research, but Selvig's alive, so I'm taking that as a good sign," He answered. He sent a small grin Charlie's way as she rolled her eyes. "Speaking of work, how is it going with you?" He asked her, a bit hesitant. For all he knew, it was still a touchy subject.

The woman didn't bother to hold back the small groan pulling from her throat. "If you can even call it work_…_," She grumbled under her breath, crossing one leg over the other's knee.

"Still pissed?" Clark asked her, frowning ever so slightly.

The look Charlie sent him was the perfect representation of grumpy. He was unsure if it was because of him, until she said, "I had to take him shopping." Realizing what she was pouting over, Clark relaxed. The mental image of Captain America and Charlene Strauss trying on clothes and carrying large quantities of shopping bags flashed before his eyes, and Clark found himself laughing. Charlie's firm expression turned into a glare as she looked away. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up."

Managing to calm down, Clark motioned toward her with a small chuckle, "Come on, look at it as a vacation."

Charlie was quick to retort, not oblivious in the least to the pout in her voice. "I don't want a vacation, I want to work," She exclaimed.

Clark eyed her with a dull expression before shaking his head. "You and every other SHIELD agent," He muttered, taking a sip of his hot chocolate, "Why did I ever stick around?" He was starting to look like the sole agent who wasn't addicted to working.

"Because you had a crush on the recruiting officer," Charlie explained without hesitation.

Ah. _Her_. That was why. The recollection of the petite redhead with a large smile and, in Clark's words, 'killer legs', came rushing back to him. He grinned, looking toward Charlie, who watched him with a raised brow and a bemused frown. "She was pretty," He told her.

Sighing, Charlie shook her head and gripped her cup with both hands in her lap. "It's not that I don't like Rogers. He's a nice guy," She paused, eying Clark's still goofy grin, "Better company than you, anyway." His grin turned to a frown and she looked back toward her nephew in the distance. "It's just that every time I look at him, I see Fury glaring at me and I keep thinking about how I'm babysitting a grown man. And whenever I talk to him, I turn into a_… _Whatever you call an awkward woman."

"A bumbling schoolgirl?" Clark offered, dead set on jabbing back in response for the better company remark.

And it worked. He chuckled as Charlie glared at him. "It's platonic," She warned him, before re-situating her position on the bench. "You know how I get. If it's not strictly work-related, I'm like some_…_" She trailed off, but pointed to Clark before he could interrupt, and snapped, "Don't you dare."

Placing his cup onto the bench in between him and Charlie, Clark rested his elbows on the back of said bench. Motioning a hand toward Charlie, he began. "Look, maybe if you relaxed and started liking this assignment and enjoying yourself, Fury'd send you back to what you call 'real work'," He mocked her tone as he threw up air quotations. Then he muttered, "Otherwise, _you're_ weird so the _punishment's_ weird."

Charlie was quiet for a while, thinking over her friend's words. Fury was intent on punishing her for her actions, and it was working. No matter what she did, she would be annoyed. She was sure of it. Damn, she really hated getting reprimanded. "Just my luck," She grumbled before taking another sip of her hot chocolate.

. . .

Steve washed the last of his plates in a steely silence. The dishwasher was functioning, he assumed, but he couldn't remember how to work all of it, so he decided to do things by hand. He preferred it like this anyway – it was what he was used to and plus, it gave him something better to think about than Fuller.

The man was a pain in his side. Steve tried everything to distract himself from even feeling the stare of the SHIELD agent; reading magazines, books Charlie had lent him, figuring out the TV, exercising, napping_…_ None of it worked. No matter what, Steve still knew he was there. Still _felt_ him there. It was obtrusive and beyond his comfort zone.

How did Charlie manage to be around him every minute of the day and not get on his nerves like this? She was a welcome addition to his life, at least as most as she could be given the situation, but Fuller was just a nuisance.

It made him feel like the antique he was trying so hard not to be.

SHIELD was watching him, observing him. That was obvious with Charlie being there. Nick Fury was a man who wanted to keep Steve on his radar. Steve wasn't a fool to this. But with Charlie there, it didn't seem so much like control over him. With Charlie, Steve could at least not feel like he was being babysat, or kept under wraps like some fragile object ready to shatter from any wear and tear.

Putting away the last of his plates, Steve turned but stopped at noticing Fuller by the doorway. Yet again. The two stared at one another before Steve chose to move on. Walking past Fuller and through the doorway, Steve made his way across the living room and toward the door to the right of the TV. He came to a halt halfway there, his brows furrowing as he turned around. Fuller stopped, having been following him across the room. Steve held back his frustration and kept his tone calm. "Like I said earlier_…_ I'm capable of using the men's room on my own, Agent."

"…" Looking around, Fuller shifted in his stance and gave a small nod. He clasped his hands together behind his back and stepped backward, toward the front door. Shaking his head, Steve went into the bathroom.

Upon stepping in front of the sink, Steve looked to his reflection in the mirror above it.

"_Is there anything you can do?_"

"_I'm doing it. Saving your life._"

Steve frowned, hands absentmindedly grabbing at the edges of the sink. The sound of the flowing water from the faucet dimmed in his ears, his own thoughts blasting in full volume.

"_You told me you thought I was meant for more than this. Did you mean that?_"

"_Every word._"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he closed in his eyes as he tried to distract himself. A part of him hated this, wanted nothing more than to think of something else. The other part of him refused to believe there was anything else to think of that mattered.

"_You know, I still don't know how to dance._"

"_I'll show you how. Just be there._"

"_We'll have the band play something slow. I'd hate to step on your f-_"

Grimacing, he pressed his palm against his head, his other hand's grip on the sink tightening. He leaned over and quickly moved his hands under the rushing water. He splashed his face before rubbing his palms over it, forcing his erratic breathing to a slow calm. After several minutes of self-inflicted misery, he reopened his eyes and looked up, back into his reflection in the mirror.

The sooner the weekend was over, the better.


End file.
